Our Darkest Secrets
by Bryn T. Wedge
Summary: The closer they get, the harder it is to keep their secrets. Greg and Mycroft try to begin their new lives together, but problems of the past continue to resurface... for everyone. Mycroft finds that he has to let go of Sherlock to now live his own life happily with Greg, and Greg tries his best to keep his little family together when things go from bad to worse.
1. We All Have Secrets

_Welcome to Part IV of Paths We Walk Together._

 _This story will be referencing things that have happened in the previous three parts, and is continuing where the other one ended. I recommend you read those first, but you could just start here if you so choose._

* * *

Mycroft felt too nauseous to stand. He didn't even care if he wasn't presenting as the omnipotent older brother anymore. He just felt guilt. He'd been so wrapped up in his own happiness since getting engaged that he didn't remember to tell his team to check up with Sherlock occasionally. He'd trusted Gregory's advice to leave Sherlock to be an adult and make good decisions. He'd thought that John being back from his honeymoon would have helped.

But no. His world swirled around him once he'd gotten that phone call from John. Sherlock, found in a drug den… by accident. He should have been watching. He should have known Sherlock would have drowned instead of choosing to swim, as always. He knew it wasn't Gregory's fault, but he couldn't help but feel some resentment towards him about it. He knew it'd pass, he loved the man after all… it was just… all very overwhelming.

He sighed as he remained seated on the stairs. John would be bringing Sherlock there soon. Mycroft had called Anderson, the only man he knew that not only knew what he was looking for, but would willingly and somewhat respectfully inspect Sherlock's toxic waste dump of a flat. And, of course, not alert the authorities. Anderson had arrived with a few of his members of his little fan club, two of which left fairly quickly. Mycroft just remained seated on the stairs, lost in his own thoughts.

 _It's my fault. I knew this would happen. I should be responsible for him. This is worse than that time after the Georgia incident… I wasn't away from him by obligation. I chose to be away because I was too busy being happy in my own life._

As soon as Mycroft saw the men pile into the entranceway, his stomach dropped. And suddenly he was angry. All of the hurt and betrayal of the trust he'd placed in Sherlock bubbled through as anger. He took a breath and put a lid on it, knowing getting angry wouldn't do anyone any good. But he suddenly found his voice enough to make scolding remarks. And he was just a _little_ bit indignant that no one made comment on his new shiny ring.

Mycroft noticed Sherlock's door closed. He got the overwhelming feeling to make his little brother hurt … he was obviously still in love with John, who was standing in the room, and the most likely explanation for the door being shut was Sherlock having a boy in there hiding away from the commotion. The flat itself showed enough evidence of cohabitation to a degree. But it was obviously not anything serious or emotional for Sherlock. Acting out, perhaps? Or gaining some experience, maybe?

He was ready to spill the beans when Sherlock said Magnussen's name. Mycroft's blood ran cold.  
 _No. No, no._

He turned onto Anderson and his girlfriend, all but bore his teeth at them, and enjoyed watching them scamper away. He did not enjoy John's insubordination to his authority. But he chose to ignore it to get Sherlock to back down… which he didn't.

Mycroft knew he couldn't tell Sherlock _why_ he had to drop it… how could he even begin? Magnussen knew the truth about Redbeard and Eurus, and that was not something he could risk being spilled. He had an agreement with the man, one that was greatly more beneficial to him than Mycroft, but it had meant that Sherlock was safe from himself. It was a delicate, and dangerous, situation.

He didn't want to leave, but Sherlock made it rather evident that there was no talking to him in this state. He snarled inwardly at John, and then left. At least there was a nasty surprise awaiting him in a few moments.

Mycroft needed to have a few words with his surveillance team, and then with Lady Smallwood. It was no coincidence that just weeks after the inquiry she was conducting on Magnussen, Sherlock was on his case.

And then he just wanted to go home. He needed a hug from his fiancé. Unfortunately, Gregory was at work until the evening.

Mycroft sat in his chair and swirled the amber liquid in the tumbler in his hand. He didn't know what he was going to do. Sherlock was obviously not going to drop the case. Lady Smallwood had admitted that she'd asked Sherlock to get her husband's letters back. He was downright livid. If he could have, he'd have made her disappear… very quickly. But she was the same level as he was, and there was nothing he could do.

"Myc! I'm home!" Gregory's voice resounded down the corridor. Mycroft didn't respond. He heard the man drop his bag by the door and walk towards the living room.  
"Myc? You here?"

Mycroft didn't respond again. Gregory appeared in the entrance to the living room, but he didn't look up to him. He just sipped his drink again. Greg frowned when he saw his fiancé sitting in his chair, drinking. Something was wrong. His heart twisted, and he walked up to face him.

"Myc? What's happened?" Greg asked with concern. There was no response. Greg used his hand to cup Mycroft's chin and lift it in his direction. The man's blue eyes were dazed, slowly moving to meet Greg's own. Greg knelt down so he was at eye level with Mycroft.  
"Mycroft, talk to me."  
Mycroft took a deep breath and sighed.  
"Gregory, my love… it's not been a good day."  
"I gathered. What happened?"  
"It… it was Sherlock."

Greg's stomach flipped. He remained still as he listened to Mycroft talk about how Sherlock had gone back to drugs, about how he'd felt like a failure and regretted not watching him. Greg felt guilty about being so forceful at making Mycroft take a step back from his brother… but he'd honestly believed that Sherlock would be able to stand on his own. Mycroft then told him how it had been for a case… how Sherlock willingly put himself in danger, again, for a case. And that he desperately wanted Sherlock to just drop it and leave.

"What's the case?" Greg asked.  
"I can't tell you whom, but I can tell you that one of my colleagues approached Sherlock in order to act as an intermediary for something in this person's possession that my colleague wants back."  
"That… that doesn't sound like Sherlock's usual cases, why did he take it on?"  
"… I can only assume because it's dangerous. So very dangerous. I… I can't protect him, Gregory… I didn't! This is worse than Georgia, because he started this while I was just too busy being happy, and I can't stop thinking that I …"

Greg moved up and held Mycroft, hushing him gently. The man's head rested into Greg's middle as Greg softly stroked his head.  
"It'll be alright. It's not your fault, Myc, for letting him be an adult. You're not to blame, and you're certainly not to feel guilty for being happy and having your own life."

Mycroft didn't respond. Gregory knew him better than anyone, didn't demand to know the answers to everything, and cared more than anyone. And that's why he was going to marry the man. He felt somewhat comforted, but couldn't stop the dread.  
"Something terrible is going to happen, Gregory. I just know it."  
"We'll do what we can, yeah? Terrible things happen. But we'll all work together and sort it out, alright? You're not alone in this anymore, you don't have to carry the burden of what happens to Sherlock yourself."

Greg kissed Mycroft on the top of his head.  
"Come on, why don't we go up to bed? Then I can hold you closer."  
Mycroft nodded, and stood. Greg still hugged him.  
"I'm so very grateful to have you." Mycroft spoke. He already was feeling a lot better. But guilt still pulled at his gut.  
Once they were laying together in bed, in the soft light, Mycroft felt calmer. But his mind wouldn't stop nagging him that secrets were going to be spilled, and he'd promised to try and not keep so many secrets from Gregory.  
"Gregory?"  
"Yes dear?"  
"I… I still have secrets from you."  
"I know. We all have secrets, Myc."  
"But one of them, the biggest and darkest one of all, is likely going to be revealed… and I so want to tell you it all before it does, but I … I can't."  
"You've already told me a little about your suicide attempt, dear. I am happy to hear what I can about the details, something about Georgia I'm assuming? But don't feel obliged to tell me everything. I have just accepted that there are things you can't tell me, you know, state secrets and all that."

Mycroft frowned. Gregory thought his biggest secret was his attempted suicide? He didn't know what to say to that. Yes, it was a memory he kept hidden deep down in his mind, locked away, and he might call it _his_ 'darkest', but it wasn't the biggest one. And should he mention that he was permitted to share a great deal more with Gregory now that they were engaged? Gregory already had a much higher security clearance than most DCIs, thanks to his involvement with both Sherlock and himself, but recently the paperwork had been cleared for him to know a great deal more.  
"I… you… you've been granted a higher level of security clearance. I can tell you more details now."  
"Oh, great. Thanks?"  
"But perhaps not now. Now I think we should just find something for dinner." Mycroft spoke. He knew he was chickening out, but didn't feel up to talking. He'll just let Gregory believe he was talking about Georgia and his attempt. It wasn't like that all was going to be relevant any time soon.

The pair left the room and walked downstairs into the kitchen. Greg had started to teach Mycroft a thing or two about cooking, and so they both worked on preparing a vegetable stir fry. Greg had given up on trying to tell Mycroft that it really didn't matter if all the carrot pieces were the same size, and just let him spend extra time cutting the vegetables.

Greg got the wok out and turned the gas on, and Mycroft went to get the soy sauce from the pantry. He heard Mycroft's phone ring, and then there was silence. Greg had a bad feeling in his stomach. Then he heard a glass bottle smash on the floor. Yes, something was definitely wrong. Mycroft reappeared from the walk-in pantry, pale as a sheet and eyes in a panic.

"Myc? What is it?"  
"We have to go. Sherlock's been shot. He's… he's…" Mycroft managed to get out of his mouth, before turning on the spot and running.  
"Fuck." Greg exclaimed, turning the gas off and following Mycroft to the doorway.


	2. Waiting Room, Again

Greg cradled his fiancé in his arms as they waited. Mycroft wasn't coping. The staff had given him a shock blanket, and he'd accepted it without opposition. John wasn't faring much better; he was sitting beside Mycroft, shaking gently. Greg hadn't been able to get much out of him, just that they were in Magnussen's office, and Sherlock had been shot. And, of course, that they were losing him on the way over.

Mycroft had been notified by his team, and so he and Greg had arrived at the hospital not long after John and Sherlock had. Greg was in shock about it all too, but couldn't imagine what Mycroft was going through. They'd had scares before, but it had been about drugs. Somehow it had seemed less life threatening than a bullet to the chest. Greg eyed over to John, whom seemed to be pleading in his head for Sherlock to live. He looked down at Mycroft; he was still not with it. His eyes were unfocused and stared straight ahead. He'd not responded to any questions asked to him. It was like he was just… not there, his mind stuck somewhere else. Greg wasn't sure if it was a coping mechanism, or just reliving past memories. But he wasn't in much of a state to question it.

John seemed frustrated with the lack of news, but looked like he was scared to find anything out. He'd been there in the ambulance. He was a doctor. He knew exactly what the prognosis was. Greg didn't like looking at him for the simple fact that his face told him that in all likelihood, Sherlock wasn't going to make it.

Mycroft's phone rang, but he didn't seem to be able to hear it.  
"Myc, you might need to answer that." Greg said softly, patting his back a few times. Still no response. Greg slid his hand into Mycroft's pocket without resistance, and pulled out the phone. He didn't care about if he wasn't supposed to answer it or not, he just did.

"Mr Holmes' phone, Lestrade speaking."  
"Where is Mr Holmes?" The caller asked instantly.  
"He is … unable to answer the phone right now." Greg said, looking at Mycroft's distant stare.  
"We have some more information that he will want to know regarding the shooting."

Greg swallowed uncertainly. Yes, Mycroft would want to know.  
"Erm… just give me a minute, will you? I'll see if he can answer." Greg said hesitantly, and put the phone on mute.  
"Mycroft?" Greg asked gently, placing his hands on either side of the man's face, "You need to take this call, ok? It's about Sherlock."

Mycroft seemed to register his brother's name, and moved to look at Greg directly. He nodded. Greg grabbed the phone, put it off mute, and handed Mycroft the phone.

"Holmes."  
"Mr Holmes, we have confirmed from Mr Magnussen the identity of the shooter. He was being threatened by a Ms Mary Morstan, who then shot Sherlock Holmes once discovered."

Mycroft paled even further, if it were even possible, and dropped his phone to the ground. Greg frowned in concern, and picked up the phone.  
"Um, thanks, bye." He muttered quickly to the caller and hung up. He then turned his attention to Mycroft.

"Myc, what did he say?"  
"I…it's… it's my fault." Mycroft managed to utter.  
"No, no Myc, it's not."

Mycroft looked up at Greg with large, wet, pleading eyes.  
"Yes…oh god, Gregory…it's my fault."

Before Greg could argue even more, a doctor appeared before them. He informed them that they had managed to resuscitate Sherlock and he was currently in a stable, albeit critical, condition. John immediately demanded to see him, but the doctor was unsure. The poor man was then subject to an onslaught from Captain Watson. He reluctantly allowed John to go in, and offered for any 'other' family members to join. Strangely, Mycroft refused. Greg told John they'd seem soon.

"Myc, what's going on?"  
"I … I need to tell you what happened all those years ago. It won't stop flashing before my eyes. And now…it's relevant. Before, it… it was just me, trying to tell myself… I do have a purpose, that you still need me even if Sherlock… so I couldn't just… but now…she… I knew, and now I… I…" Mycroft spoke, and began to shake and heave for air.

Greg held on to him tightly, and tried to help as best he could. He was relieved that Sherlock was alive, and going to be ok, but he was still worried for Mycroft.

Greg stood, and Mycroft absent-mindedly reached out to grab him. Greg kissed him on the forehead and said he'd be back soon, and went to the nurse's station to request a room. Annoyingly, even though Mycroft was clearly having a panic attack or breakdown or something, the nurses refused to allow them to have a room. Apparently being in that much shock wasn't considered important enough to warrant admission to the hospital. Greg argued that he didn't need to be admitted, just given some private space to cope for an hour, but they shooed him away.

Greg returned to Mycroft, disgruntled. But he wasn't ready to give up. His fiancé needed him. He picked up Mycroft's phone, and after getting Mycroft to unlock it, found Anthea's number. He called and told her the situation, and she assured him that she'd take care of it. It wasn't ten minutes later that a (different) nurse approached them and escorted them to a private room.

Greg tried to get Mycroft to lay in the bed, but he was refusing. Greg had to be unwillingly forceful about the matter, and Mycroft didn't have the strength to refuse. And so Greg took the chair that was beside the head of the bed, and held tightly onto Mycroft's hand.

"Gregory…" Mycroft began, swallowing and screwing up his face, "I have spent so long ignoring the day I decided to end my life that I forgot about the events leading up to it. And now it's gone and gotten Sherlock almost killed. And I almost lost my purpose again… if …if I didn't have you, and I lost him… I'd have no reason to be anymore."

Greg said nothing and just waited for Mycroft to continue talking, stroking his hand softly. He didn't like hearing that Mycroft was hinting at suicide again, but he couldn't blame him. He knew himself that those thoughts don't just go away. Things might get better, you might change and move on, find things to live for, be happy… but the thoughts creep back in when you fall back down again regardless of anything else in life.

"It was only a couple of months after you met Sherlock for the first time…" Mycroft began, and suddenly found himself reliving the moments as if he was actually there. He could see it before him, and even though he was still speaking about it to Gregory, he was lost in the memories as they unfolded before him.


	3. Mycroft's Darkest Secret

_I have written out Mycroft's secret as a detailed story happening in the past, if you feel like some more Mycroft feels._

* * *

"I was depressed, I knew I was…but there wasn't anything I could do about it. You might not believe it, Gregory, but I didn't always like my job. Hell, I didn't even choose it. My uncle Rudy suddenly thrust me into it. There was … an incident, regarding my family. Something that I couldn't escape. I suddenly found myself in a world I didn't recognise, keeping secrets from everyone I cared about. But I couldn't stop, I had to protect them."  
"When was this?" Greg asked, seeing the distant look on Mycroft's face.  
"I was… sixteen I believe. Almost seventeen."  
"You… you were sixteen when you were roped into the Secret Service?"  
"Yes."

Greg couldn't believe it. He hadn't really thought about how Mycroft had gotten the job he had, but he'd at least always assumed he'd chosen it. Mycroft's words were painful, and heartfelt, when he continued. He talked of feeling perpetually tired, anhedonic, and lost. He'd been in the system for a long time, but was still always frustrated at how he was never allowed to know all of the information he needed to do his job properly. Greg knew Mycroft was something of a control freak, and could imagine how unsettled the man would be not able to know everything about what he was doing.

"My superiors liked me, since I was able to do the work well. By this stage, I hadn't done field work for many years. I never liked it. But I was still taken away at a moment's notice to a foreign country or into the depths of the department to work on something for days at a time. It was very stressful to work under those conditions, when I needed to be there for Sherlock. Really, the only benefit of the job was that I was permitted to use their resources to keep an eye on Sherlock and to 'assist' with any transgressions he'd make in the eyes of the law."  
"I always thought you'd had something to do with that."

"Indeed. Anyway, I was working on a big mission in Georgia. I hated that I didn't know what it was exactly I was working on. I knew it was important, and that many lives depended on what I was doing. I was stuck in their dungeon of an office for three days straight meticulously planning out every eventuality, every action of our team, to get the situation under control. I was worn out, and even though sleep never really came well to me, I was so exhausted I just wanted to rest. And I as worried for Sherlock.

"This was the point in time when he was trying to get clean so he could go on cases with you. But he, as you probably recall, didn't manage that very well. Once I had gotten home to the flat, finally, I checked in with him. As usual, he was telling me how unwanted I was, and to leave him alone. But he was in withdrawal, and being extra antagonistic with his comments. I just took it and told him I'd always be there for him, and ended up falling asleep. I couldn't tell him that he was all that was keeping me going, and that I couldn't just leave him be… he was the only purpose I had in my life to keep living. He never did take burden very well, and I knew exactly what it was like to have it thrust upon one unwillingly. And so I'd never tell him, he just wouldn't cope with that.

"I was so unbelievably alone, Gregory. I just felt … Sherlock didn't want me, and I didn't speak much with my parents for reasons I can't get into… and I spent my days alone in my office, doing the work I was assigned, doing what I could to make things better for others. I didn't have the manor then, I didn't see the point. Not when I spent all my day at work. I wanted to get out, but knew there wasn't any way to do that. I couldn't just leave my job, I had responsibilities… and I couldn't just abandon the work. This job is all I've ever known, and I couldn't give that up. But I was just so tired of it all. Tired of the secrets, tired of the control being out of my hands, but still making life and death decisions daily. Tired of never being allowed to care about what I was doing, because caring wasn't an advantage. Caring got people killed, caring made people make mistakes. I had to develop my icy exterior just to cope with it all. I'd gotten pretty good at it by that stage, and was feeling like that icy façade was all I had left of me. The rest was just a pit of darkness.

"But then things went wrong. The situation in Georgia collapsed, and I was asked to go in to collect the surviving member of the special agent team we'd sent in. Freelancers, four of them. We'd been told that one member had survived, and so it fell to me to get them back out again. I didn't even get a chance to tell Sherlock I was going… I was shipped off then and there. At least once I'd found the AGRA team member, I could go home."

"Did you find them?"  
"Yes, quite quickly actually. And it was a good thing for her, since she might have died there forgotten. Her injuries were minor, but still… anything could have happened. It was… awful. Bodies everywhere, pieces of bodies everywhere, blood… the stench of it all made me sick. But I felt so detached from everything I just kept going. I never was one with a stomach for that kind of thing. I brought the woman back to London, and organised for her to be reintegrated into society. She was thankful, and even told me that it wasn't my fault that it all went to hell… even though I blamed myself. It was strange, to have someone so deadly, such a skilled killer, laying before me telling me I was a good man. I couldn't believe her."  
"You are, Myc." Greg reinforced, gripping tighter onto Mycroft's hand. Mycroft ignored it.

"Once I got back… it was my worst nightmare. The department I had assigned to watch Sherlock had elected that they had better things to do, despite it being direct orders, and lost him. I panicked. I didn't know what to do… so I did the first thing I could think of. I went to his known dens to find him. The first one came up empty, as did the second. And then I got a phone call that Sherlock was in the hospital.

"I'd almost lost him. And the job I'd taken to protect my family was the reason I wasn't there for him. It crushed me to hear his voicemail, saying that he was trying to call out to me for help, and I wasn't there for him. I stood over his bed, and I felt utterly broken. My purpose was almost taken from me and it was my fault. All those people I'd come from… my fault. Sherlock had you, Gregory, to look after him, and so didn't need me interfering in his life anymore. It was what he wanted, he'd told me enough. And you were doing a better job than I was.

"I… I didn't even know I'd decided to do it until I started saying goodbye to him. I told him he might be sad for a while, but it'd be ok. He had you. You'd get him through and then he'll be better for it. I told him I loved him, but then he woke up. At least I got to say goodbye to him. And then I ran into you, and decided I might as well give you my number since I wasn't going to be using it anymore, and told you to take care of him."  
"I… I remember."

"I sorted out my things at work ready for my death, I even filled in the death certificate for people ready to sign. And then I went home. It took me a while to go through my head on how I was going to do it. Eventually I had a plan, but sadly it was already midnight and so I had to wait until morning to buy the items. I did my research on how to make it as effective as possible, I constructed the circuit, and just sat there looking at it ready for a while. I'll admit I got scared, then. I mean… I knew death came for everyone, I knew that's what I wanted, that's what would be better for everyone… and even though I was at peace with it up until that moment, I was still scared. And then you called me."

There was a moment when Mycroft just lay in the bed with his eyes closed. Greg could tell he was reliving the moment. It might be had for him, he thought, since it seemed like he didn't think about this very often. Greg just sat there in the silence, waiting. It was a bit to process as well for him. He wasn't sure if there was more point to the story than Mycroft needing to get the secret off his chest properly, or if he was legitimately feeling suicidal again because of almost losing Sherlock. Either way, Greg was here for him. Mycroft gave him the strength to fight his own demons, and he was going to do all he could to help Mycroft get that strength for himself.

"I put it all away, after realising that I'd agreed to go meet you in the hospital an hour after the phone call, to do the paperwork. I told myself it was alright, that it was still there in the cupboard waiting for me when it all went to shit again. When I wasn't needed anymore. It took me two weeks before I even deleted the death certificate, and a month before I threw away the contents of that container. Being there to help you, help Sherlock, was the determination that got me through until things got better in other ways. I was still so ready for it all to end, but I couldn't leave Sherlock. But I got promoted following the Georgia incident, and then I had the control that I had wanted all along… it wasn't as stressful anymore, since I actually knew enough about what I was doing to make it work out for the best.

"And I had a different attitude. I had told myself that I could always just kill myself anyway, anytime, when things went bad. And so I let myself go. I did things that made me happy in the moment, because I felt like there wasn't going to be a 'future' to be happy in. I bought the manor, just because I'd always wanted to… and it didn't matter if it was a mistake. I let myself do things that made me feel happy, not caring if it was a mistake later on. And you know what? I started feeling happier. Things improved. I wasn't plagued with the suicidal thoughts as much anymore, and eventually, I was able to just hide that memory away deep down and move on with my life. But it did change me, let me do the things I wanted without so much fear of what was going to go wrong. I even did up the flat I had to make it more comfortable for me, more like the mysterious puppet-master job I had. And I even let myself have a guest room, permitting myself the hope that one day I would find someone that might like to use it."

"Well, that's a really good outcome, at least. I'm glad for those changes. And I'm glad for the guest bedroom, as well." Greg said with a genuine smile. But he dropped his smile after a moment of thinking.  
"Myc, are you telling me this because you feel that way again? And you want me to help keep you alive?"

Mycroft didn't say anything. He just frowned, thinking to himself. He honestly wasn't sure. Yes, he felt awful, and yes, the guilt was even worse than that time from Georgia… but it was more because of Mary's involvement. But he couldn't deny that he did have the dark voice poisoning his mind that killing himself was the best option. Maybe not to do it now, since he still had the love of his fiancé, but regret, perhaps?

"I… I can't deny that there is that thought lingering. Believe me that I don't want to listen to it. This has all been a lot, and I can't…"  
"I get it, Myc, you don't have to explain yourself…"  
"Thank you, but I was going to say, that I can't shake the guilt of not doing anything sooner. Not only had I ignored Sherlock in our bliss since getting engaged, but I allowed that agent to get close enough to Sherlock … believing that it was not a threat. A terribly grave mistake of mine, and I feel so guilty for it…"


	4. Mary's Secret Revealed

Greg was shocked.  
"So, the woman you saved from Georgia…"  
"Mary. Yes."  
"How long have you known?" Greg asked, trying not to sound like he was suspecting anything.  
"When we met at the cemetery. I didn't recognise her at first, but it didn't take long to piece it together. We talked about it then, and she assured me that it was coincidence that she met John, and was devoted to having a new life with him. I believed her."

Greg didn't know what to say. Mycroft clearly had good intentions from the start, but he could see why the man was blaming himself for it. He personally wasn't too thrilled to have been spending time with a woman that Mycroft knew was an assassin once. But he'd gotten a good vibe from Mary himself, and hadn't suspected anything but honest devotion to John and even Sherlock. He tried not to listen to the voice in his head that told him Mary only kept trying to include Sherlock so that she could kill him off guard. But then why take so long? Why marry John, if killing Sherlock was the goal?

"We have to tell John." Mycroft stated, but raised his eye as Greg shook his head.  
"No. Sherlock undoubtedly will, and I believe it's something that they will need to work out between themselves."

Mycroft was hesitant, but trusted Greg. Deep down he knew that it really was best to let the three of them work it out between themselves. Greg stroked Mycroft's hand. His fiancé looked exhausted on the bed, but like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.  
"Gregory… I understand you didn't truly believe me when I told you about the suicide attempt. If you still require proof, I am told that a copy of my death certificate that I filled in still remains in the data archives…"  
"No, no… I believe you, Myc. I just … it's all hard to get my head around, ok? Usually people don't have such … connections in the past, before meeting properly. Our lives seem pretty coincidental."  
"Perhaps, but that's just how it is. And it isn't entirely coincidental that Mary became John's wife. John chose her, remember? Of all the people he's met, he chose her. And you know John's thirst for danger and adrenaline, the soldier craving the war… of course he chose someone with a past like hers."

Greg nodded. It made him wonder what he was into, having chosen Mycroft Secret-Keeper-Government-Spy Holmes.  
"But you see, Gregory… this really is my fault. If I had done a better job with the Georgia case, if I hadn't organised Mary's reintegration, and most importantly… if I hadn't have just kept my mouth shut and trusted her not to cause any harm. She assured me she would protect John at all costs… I was an idiot to not ask about my brother's safety as well."

Greg knew there wasn't anything he could say that would make Mycroft stop blaming himself. For now, at least. He just gave him a look that said 'you're wrong', and held him close. He at least could understand Mycroft's feelings. He seemed to be doing better now that he'd talked, but he was still deathly white and shaking slightly. Greg eyed a sick bag in the tray of the equipment beside him, and felt it a good idea to slip it into his pocket - just in case.

* * *

Greg had taken Mycroft home after they'd gone in to see Sherlock. Both the Holmeses were pale and unmoving. John sat vigil by Sherlock's side, almost dropping asleep. Greg gave him a hug, telling him it'd be alright. He looked like he needed it.  
"Just give me a call if you need anything, alright?" Greg told him firmly.  
"Yeah. Thanks. I don't know when he'll be awake, or how lucid he'll be when he is."  
"I'm sure Mycroft will keep us up to date on his progress, so don't worry about calling us in to see him."

The pair stood and watched Mycroft stand stoically over Sherlock. He then pulled out the chart from the foot of the bed, glanced over it, and closed his eyes in pain. He put the folder away, and then gripped the railings of the bed.  
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock." Mycroft whispered.

There was silence for some time following that, and so Greg suggested he'd better take Mycroft home to bed. He advised John get some rest too, but knew that the doctor was going to remain in that chair until Sherlock woke. His heart lurched knowing what was about to happen to him… once Sherlock woke up, Mary's secret was going to be out… and then everything was going to go to hell for him. Greg made sure to remind John to call him for anything, even to listen to venting, at any time.

Greg had tucked Mycroft into bed and snuggled with him. It was rather late, or, really, early… and Greg knew that he'd only get a few hours sleep before he had to go to work. He honestly felt like he should stay and be there for Mycroft, but the man seemed to be coping alright since unloading the story of his actions in the past. He was just a bit dazed still, but no longer in unresponsive shock once learning Sherlock was going to recover.

Mycroft was still asleep when Greg awoke, and so he merely kissed his cheek gently and got ready for work silently. He left a note on the bathroom mirror, somewhere he knew Mycroft would look, telling him that he should take the day off, call him when he was up, and not begin to orchestrate Mary's 'disappearance' until things worked themselves out between her and John, and Sherlock.

Mycroft had obliged on all counts, and Greg received a phone call just after ten in the morning. Anthea had already organised for him to have the day off, and Mycroft stated he'd be going to visit Sherlock a bit later on. Greg told him that he was going to take a half day, since he was already exhausted and his mind just wasn't into it. Mycroft agreed, and said that he'd be home waiting for him… and that they both needed some relaxation. Greg's mood improved for the rest of the day.

They enjoyed some nice dinner (take out, Mycroft was in no mood to cook), some wine, and one of Mycroft's favourite films. Things were working out alright… until he got a phone call from John. He'd been expecting this all day, but still hadn't worked out what he was going to say.

"It's John." Greg told Mycroft before answering. Mycroft made a face and inclined his head.  
"Hey, Greg. Sherlock's awake. He's not said anything lucid still, but if you want to go and see him tomorrow, you can."  
"Oh… ok. Has, um… has Mary been in to see him?"  
"Yeah, funny you should ask. His first word: Mary. Is… is there something I should know?"  
"Dunno why you'd ask me, mate. But I'm glad he's awake. I'll come in to see him tomorrow, alright? So are you holding up ok?"  
"Yeah… gave me a hell of a scare there, but it's alright now."  
"Yeah… listen, I've gotta go, Mycroft and I are in the middle of a movie…."  
"Ah. Right. Well I'll see you tomorrow."

John hun up the phone and Greg frowned.  
"That was odd."  
"Hm?" Mycroft asked.  
"John… didn't say a thing about Mary. Neither of them have told him yet."  
"Give it time." Mycroft said, closing his eyes. He didn't seem to be very interested in getting directly involved. Greg could understand that; he no doubt still felt guilty for allowing Mary to get herself this entangled as it was.

* * *

By the time Greg got out of work to see John at the hospital, it was night. It had been an annoyingly long day. Surprisingly, John still hadn't said a thing about Mary. The papers had Sherlock all over it about faking a relationship with some woman, and John was more than glad to catch Greg up about Janine. Greg could tell John was relieved that it was all fraudulent, even if John wasn't aware of why. Greg just sighed and rolled his eyes in his head. One day, maybe, John will be honest with himself. But that was obviously going to be after his… difficulties… upcoming.

Greg decided he'd film Sherlock in the hospital, just in case he needed it. For some reason, since clearing Sherlock's name using so much of the video footage, he felt the need to document things just for 'in case'. Besides, he knew Mycroft would no doubt want to see it. The man had also been stuck in the office all day. He'd told Greg it was official matters, but he just _knew_ Mycroft was setting things in motion to get rid of Mary.

But Sherlock was gone. John called Mary in a panic, and Greg alerted the Yard to try find him. Greg then phone Mycroft.  
"He's got three known bolt-holes. Parliament Hill, Camden Lock, and Dagmar Court."  
"I am aware. But we're going to need to search deeper than that. Come to my office at once, we'll work out something."

Mycroft hung up the phone and Greg just looked at John uncertainly.  
"Sorry, I've got to go meet Mycroft. He's on the case. We'll find him, yeah?"  
"Yeah. Stay in touch. I'll go and ask Molly if she knows anywhere else he'd hide. Why the fuck is he doing this?!" John shouted as the men parted. Greg didn't want to tell him why Sherlock wanted to hide.

He'd not been in Mycroft's office before. He'd been in front of the building often enough, but never had the need to go actually into the office. It was dark and creepy, and really did suit the work flat in decor. He was glad that they didn't really spend a whole lot of time there anymore, and secretly glad he didn't have to spend much time in Mycroft's office either.

Greg stood in the middle of the room, not wanting to look about too much. The mirrors on either side made him wary. But it was Mycroft that kept him standing back and stiff. The man was clearly very stressed, but had defaulted to his icy exterior in order to get the job done. He was rather rude to Greg, but Greg just breathed through it and let it pass. He understood. It was a high stress situation. Mycroft managed to locate two more bolt-holes, and quickly sent him off to search them.

"I'll see you soon, ok, love? We'll find him, ok?" Greg said at the doorway.  
"I know. I just worry in what state." Mycroft responded, frowning in concern.

Greg nodded, and left. He already felt like taking another holiday.

He checked all five places, but there was no Sherlock in sight. He called Mycroft, who let out a strangled noise before getting control over himself and informing Greg that he'd work more on it and keep him apprised. He then called John, who told him to join in at Baker Street.

Mrs Hudson was there, still insisting that Sherlock could be behind the face of Big Ben. She greeted Greg warmly, and then they stood about in the kitchen trying to come up with some other place to find him. John was also concerned about why he'd run, and Greg was trying hard not to let anything slip. He even offered the though that maybe Sherlock was out trying to hunt the shooter down, but John wasn't seeming to buy it. It was rather ridiculous, since Sherlock knew it'd be better to hunt a killer down when he wasn't at risk of dying on the spot just from moving. So it had to be important to do _now_.

Greg decided to leave and make himself useful trying to find more places Sherlock would hide, before John managed to get him to spill the secret.  
 _He has to find out for himself. He has to find out for himself._

Not long after leaving the flat, Greg got a call from John.  
"Hey, Sherlock just called me. He's in Leinster Gardens, and wants me to meet him there. Said that there's something I need to hear from Mary."  
"Oh, um, that's great, I'll call Mycroft!" Greg exclaimed and hung up immediately. He knew John hadn't really finished talking, but he didn't want to be invited to go with him. He drew in a deep breath, and called Mycroft.

"Myc, we've found him. He called John. Now, before I tell you were he is, I need you to promise me that you'll just let them deal with this situation between them, alright?"  
"Gregory!"  
"No, Mycroft. This is something between them. It's best we're not involved."  
"No."  
"Mycroft."  
"No! Sherlock needs me, and he almost died because of me."  
"Dearest, he's going to be ok, and it wasn't because you let Mary stay around. But this is seriously something they need to work out, trust me."

He heard Mycroft sigh deeply.  
"Myc? I'll come and meet you at your office, ok?"  
"Very well, Gregory. I will allow them to decide what they want to do. I trust you. With Sherlock's life."

Greg beamed at hearing those words. He knew that Mycroft trusted him with his own life undoubtedly, but to trust him with Sherlock's life proved just how much Mycroft trusted him. He told him where Sherlock was, and that he'd see him soon. It was going to be a difficult time ahead, and Greg only hoped that he'd be able to keep his little family together.


	5. Meeting Greg's Family

Greg's mother had a 70th birthday party today. He'd agreed to attend when invited two weeks ago, but neglected to mention that he'd be bringing Mycroft. He hadn't told her that he was engaged… he'd told his sister, Sophie, but knew that it was unlikely she would have said anything. With all of the chaos following Mary's secret being revealed, he'd just forgotten to say anything.

John and Mary weren't talking still, and John had confided in Greg what had happened. Greg didn't say anything about Mycroft knowing about Mary beforehand, deciding that it was probably for the best to keep that information a secret from John. Mycroft had done as he promised and left Mary alone. Greg may have helped keep him occupied with wedding plans of all sorts to try keep his mind off of Sherlock.

Speaking of the wedding… they'd decided to get married rather soon. Greg had said he'd like a spring wedding, symbolising the melting of the ice, but Mycroft was unusually insistent to get married before Christmas. He'd said that he wanted to be Greg's husband before the ice even came; but Greg secretly believed that Mycroft was afraid of something happening that would tear them apart before they got the chance. And, in honesty, Greg could understand that. Sherlock almost dying only two weeks after them getting engaged, and then the rift torn between Mary and John, were indeed indicators that waiting only invites more opportunity for pain.

And so now Greg was about to arrive at a big celebration and deliver a wedding invitation to his mother and sister. Mycroft wasn't going to arrive for another hour, which while disappointing at first, did give Greg an opportunity to let the news out gently.

"Greg! So good to see you!" The high pitched voice of Greg's mother called out as he walked into the house.  
"Hello, Mum, it's good to see you too." Greg said, much less enthusiastically. His mother was too excited to notice. She embraced him in a hug and kissed him on the cheek.  
"Come, we're all out the back." She said, leading him into the backyard.

There were tables dressed in white cloth on the grass in the backyard, and a small gazebo where the food was laid out for people to get as they pleased. People were standing about talking, or sitting at the tables, and there were children running around them. Greg eyed his niece and nephew chasing each other, and smiled to himself.

"Greg! Wonderful to see you again."  
Greg turned and saw the face of his mother's best friend, Margret, beaming at him.  
"Hey, Aunty Marge." Greg said with a smile. He'd known her most of his life. She hugged him and gave him a kiss like his mother had done, and then tugged him to move over to the table where they were seated.

"Happy birthday, Mum." Greg said, handing over his gift. She tore the paper off excitedly, and gazed down at the little clock.  
"Awh, Greggy, it's lovely, thank you." She said, pulling it out of the box and resting it on the table. It was brass and mahogany, and was encased in glass so that one could see the cogs and pieces moving.  
"So! I hear you're getting engaged! Why didn't you bring her with you?" Greg's mother burst out, and Greg froze.  
"Uhhh…" He said, not sure what to say about it, "Sophie told you, then?"  
"Yeah."  
"Oh, um I'd better go say hi to Soph now that I think of it." Greg stated hurriedly, and left the table.

He quickly found his sister, and grabbed her by the elbow.  
"Oh, hi Greg." Sophie said as she turned to him.  
"You told her I was engaged?"  
"Yes."  
"But you neglected to mention that it was to a man?"  
"Yep."  
"Why?"  
"More fun this way." Sophie said with a devilish gleam in her eye and a manic smile. Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. His sister always loved chaos.

He returned to the table where his mother and her friend were siting expectantly.  
"So, Greg, what's her name?"  
"When's the wedding?" Margret interjected before Greg could speak. He elected to answer the easier question.  
"December, actually. December 11th."  
"Oh! So soon!" His mother cooed in delight.  
"Yeah… and I have the invitations with me… but before I give them to you, there's something I have to say. My fiancé is a man, his name is Mycroft. I love him with all my being, and I haven't been this happy before." Greg spilled all at once.

The two women were silent for a second, but then Margret burst out laughing.  
"Hahah I knew it! I knew he'd marry a bloke. Betty, you owe me ten quid." Margret said, playfully shoving his mother's arm.  
"Wait… what?" Greg asked incredulously.  
"No, no… he married a woman first, so technically I still win." His mother protested.  
"Hang on, you two were betting on my love life?!" Greg snapped. He was still ignored.  
"Hey, I never said he had to marry a bloke _first_ , just that he would, so fork it over." Margret said with glee, opening her palm to her friend. Greg rolled his eyes.

"I'm so happy for you, dear. We both are. We didn't mean to cause offence, but you know… you're alone, you're bored, you need to find something to occupy your time with." Betty spoke with a smile to her son.  
"So… I'm to assume this isn't the only bet you have over me or others?" Greg said sternly with a frown.  
"Oh, heavens no," Margret said with a sly smile, "We have all sorts of bets going."  
"Like?"  
"Can't tell you that, sweetie." His mother finished. At least they seemed happy for him, and didn't mind that his fiancé was a man. Margret seemed a little too happy, to be honest. He sighed. It didn't matter, really, if they wanted to bet on his life. As long as they were supportive. He guessed that he himself had had an unconscious bet with himself that they were going to get together, anyway, so couldn't really blame them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the invitations.

"Here, Mum, I've invited you and a 'plus one' so you can bring Aunty Marge."  
"Thank you dear. We'll be there with bells on." His mother said as she took the envelope.  
"I'll give Soph's to her later, she seems a bit busy." Greg said, looking over her shoulder at his sister consoling her daughter at a scuffed knee.

"So, tell us about Mycroft!"  
"Um… he's tall, a genius, a bit socially awkward, dresses in suits a lot, and I think he's er… unbelievably sexy." Greg said, coughing with a grin. His mother smiled at him. She could tell that her son was entirely besotted by this man, and was glad that he'd finally found a reason to be happy. She'd never liked that wife of his, and hated how miserable he was around her. Even before they were married, Greg didn't have that twinkle in his eye that she'd feared was gone for good.

"He's actually coming in about half an hour, he couldn't get out of work until now."  
"What does he do for work?" His mum asked him.  
"He works for the government. Minor government official." Greg repeated on reflex.  
"Sounds stuffy." Aunt Marge interjected.  
"He puts on a detached exterior, but he's really a sweet man." Greg told her with a little frown.

Greg helped himself to some lunch, seating himself back in the same seat despite his mother and her friend moving off to interact with other guests. He wanted to say hi to Jake and Emily, his nephew and niece, but they were still playing with some of the other children and hadn't noticed he was even there. He just waited until Mycroft would announce that he arrived.

After what seemed like forever, he got a text saying Mycroft was at the front door. He leapt up and trotted to the entrance, opening the door for Mycroft. He immediately gave him a big hug.  
"Hello to you too, Gregory."  
"Thank you for coming." Greg stated immediately. He knew how difficult it was going to be for him, but was still so happy that he was going to meet his family. Mycroft nodded curtly in his direction, and then waited to be shown into the house.

Mycroft froze when he stood at the back door. There was more people there than he expected. And there were more children than he expected. He took a deep breath and followed his fiancé out into the crowd.  
"Mum! Mum, this is Mycroft." Greg called out, grabbing his mother's attention. The short elderly lady smiled and approached them.  
"Mycroft Holmes." Mycroft stated formally, sticking his arm out for a handshake. The woman ignored him and hugged him tightly. His eyes grew wide.  
 _Help… Gregory, please… help…_

"Betty Lestrade. But you can call me Mum."  
Greg giggled at Mycroft's expression. His mother released him, and his Aunt then came and did the same. Greg laughed, as Mycroft's expression grew even funnier.  
"I'm Margret, but you can call me Aunty Marge."  
"Errmm… thank you." Mycroft said awkwardly. Greg knew there was no way he was going to do that.

Mycroft tried to smile at Gregory's mother, and give answers to the onslaught of questions she fired his way. He could feel himself losing control of the panic that was rising in his chest. It was a lot of conversation to deal with all at once. He at least wasn't introduced to everyone else at the party yet… but he groaned to himself thinking about it.

Greg noticed that Mycroft was beginning to shake softly and he was sweating. He grabbed his fiancé's hand.  
"Mum, we're going to get a drink now." Greg informed her, and pulled Mycroft away and back towards the kitchen inside.  
"There's champagne over under the gazebo, dear." Betty said.  
"Nah, we'd like some water. Back in a mo'."

Once Greg got Mycroft into the kitchen, he cupped his face gently.  
"Hey, you doing ok?"

Mycroft nodded, keeping his mouth shut.  
"Yes, it's just all…a lot."  
"I know, I appreciate it so much that you are doing this for me."  
"There is so many people… I don't think I can do this, Gregory…"  
"Hey, you listen to me. Ignore them. Hell, I don't even know half the people here. Who cares what they think of you. All you have to do is meet my mum, and my sister… and so you're halfway through already."

Mycroft seemed to calm down at that, and nodded back at Greg, standing taller. Greg got him a glass of water which he took thankfully, and drank a large mouthful. Greg then got a paper towel, dampened it under the tap, and then padded it on Mycroft's forehead.  
"It's gonna be ok, love. Try to relax a little. It doesn't matter to me what they think of you." Greg reassured, wiping the sweat off his brow.

After a moment, Greg tossed the paper into the bin, and then walked up and hugged Mycroft. The man returned the hug, holding him close. Mycroft then bent downwards and kissed Gregory gently.  
"I love that you are so understanding." Mycroft whispered.  
"Of course." Greg said, smiling, still in Mycroft's embrace.

"Oi, lovebirds… we're cutting the cake!"  
Both snapped their attention to the woman standing in the doorway. She gave them a smile and walked back into the backyard.  
"And that was my sister." Greg said, chuckling.  
"Charming." Mycroft stated, releasing Gregory from his hold.  
"Come on. We'll go have some cake, and yes, it's expected of you to eat it. We'll say hi to my sister and her family, and then we can go. Sound alright?"  
"Yeah." Mycroft answered, and walked back out with Gregory.


	6. Greg's Past

_I have written an extended version of Greg's past as well, for anyone interested. It really brings to light the thought processes behind his aversion to becoming a father._

* * *

Mycroft sat at the table and watched his fiancé interact with his sister's children. He couldn't help but feel sad seeing how lovingly Gregory played with his niece and nephew, and yet hadn't had children of is own. He tried to think of a reason… that perhaps his wife hadn't wanted any. But there was a deep sorrow in Gregory's eyes when he watched the children play that Mycroft knew was from past trauma or pain. He knew that look all too well from himself. Something had happened that had resulted in him remaining childless, and it hurt him. Perhaps he'd lost a child? Mycroft didn't want to bring up past pain, but he really did need to know Gregory's story about it. They were getting married, after all.

Mycroft had been distracted by his thoughts while answering questions thrown his way by Gregory's mother and less-than-platonic friend. Luckily he had the skill to think to himself and carry out conversation at the same time. He tried hard not to care too much about gaining their approval, as Gregory had told him that he didn't need it. Still, he would like it.

The party started to die down, and Greg returned to the table where Mycroft had sat.  
"Ready to go, love?" He asked, a smile breaking out across his face. As Mycroft looked up at him, he saw that shadow of sadness disappear. He smiled in return.  
"Yes, darling." Mycroft spoke, aware that he'd not used that pet name for Gregory before. He was pleased with the loving gleam in his partner's eye at the term.

Greg leaned in and kissed him, and helped Mycroft stand. He didn't take his arm off his waist as he said his goodbyes, and led Mycroft out through the house. Greg was pleased that Mycroft didn't object. They got into the back of Mycroft's car, and Greg kissed him again. But he noticed that there was something eating at his fiancé's mind.  
"Love, what is it?" Greg asked, "Did you not like my family?"  
"What? No, no… they were charming, I liked them."  
"Then what's wrong?"

Mycroft gave Greg a look that quickly crushed all the elation he'd been feeling. Greg reached up and cupped Mycroft's cheek supportively.  
"Myc, tell me."  
"Gregory," Mycroft began, very hesitant, "I… I need to ask something, something that I fear will hurt you."  
Greg paused and unconsciously moved backwards from Mycroft. He didn't want to pay any attention to the thousand thoughts dashing through his mind.  
"Alright." Greg responded slowly.

Mycroft took Gregory's hands in his and looked solemnly into his eyes. He could tell he was scared regarding what he was about to ask.  
"Gregory, why don't you have children? Watching you today… I could see how much you love them, but there was always a sadness in your eyes when you thought they couldn't see you."

Greg crumpled his face and sighed. It wasn't the worst thing to ask, not at all… but it was still difficult. He wasn't sure where to begin.  
 _From the beginning._

"Myc, I… this… this is going to be a long story. It's not just a simple answer. It's not something I talk about generally… I guess you could call it _my_ secret, like the one you told me that day in the hospital. But I … I don't want to talk about it here. Can we wait until we're home, this evening perhaps?"  
"Of course, dear." Mycroft said softly, and continued to hold onto his love's hand whilst he looked out the window.

After a light dinner, Greg took Mycroft's hand and walked with him into the lounge. He poured himself a scotch, and one for Mycroft, and sat down on the sofa with him.  
"So. This… while this is the story of why I don't have kids, it really is more the story of my life. And… to be honest… I'm ashamed of it. And I don't want you to see who I used to be for fear that I'm still that man - or rather, boy, really. I want to start this off by saying that I am entirely devoted to you, Mycroft Holmes, and no matter what happens, I will never, ever abandon you."  
Mycroft couldn't help but let his eyes water slightly. He kissed Gregory deeply. Greg enjoyed it, but then sighed when the kiss was over.

"It all started when I was eight years old. Sophie is three years younger than me, making her five at the time. My father… he was not a nice man. I don't have memory of a time when he wouldn't get drunk from drinking at four in the afternoon, and all of my earliest memories of him involve alcohol or abuse. Anyway, so one day I was outside playing, and my father let my sister out to join me. Only I hadn't known she was there. It was only later I found out that he'd expected me to watch her, but she'd run out onto the busy road we lived on. She crossed the street and was found halfway down the next. As you could imagine my parents were livid. Before they found her, my father told me that it was my fault if she died. And that was how I suddenly had a child to raise.

"Sophie only got more and more rebellious as she grew, and I was always to blame for it. My father hated me, and was forever shouting insults and derogatory comments at me. Sometimes it was because he'd decided something I did wasn't right or up to standards, sometimes it was punishing me because of Sophie's actions, and sometimes it was out of the blue and made no sense at all because he was drunk and just wanted to shout. Hell, I was always being yelled at and punished for Sophie's actions. I always had to be the 'oldest', and 'act my age', even if I was doing things that was perfectly acceptable for my age.

"My father didn't care about raising children. I was the one that raised Sophie, since my mother was always working or doing housework. Dad never worked a job that I can remember, but he would tell mum to work harder. So Mum never had time to take much interest in our lives. So I don't think she ever saw the extent of his psychological and emotional abuse. By the age of fifteen, we were struggling to get by. Mum begged for him to help, but it was just shouting matches. And then he left. He abandoned his family once it got hard for him, because he was deluded and refused to stay where we wouldn't follow his rules."  
"That sounds terrible, dear." Mycroft uttered quietly, stroking Gregory's arm as he took a gulp of scotch.

"You'd probably guess it, I was a pretty rebellious teenager myself. The typical punk… dyed hair, torn clothes, leather cuffs and jacket, chains… but I was always there to support my sister. She got into the party scene, and hung out with some really terrible people. She'd drink and take drugs, go out to clubs illegally… all at fifteen. It had started affecting her so much that when she was sixteen, Mum actually noticed. I'd just moved out with two mates by this stage, and was enjoying life outside of school."

Greg chuckled to himself looking at his scotch.  
"I spent my days working in a supermarket, and my nights out shagging random blokes. Mostly blokes. Occasionally there'd be a girl, but I've always preferred men over women. There was one guy I'd see fairly often, Alex, but he and I didn't want a relationship. It was all just rough sex between us. Well, I would have liked a bit more, but he wasn't open to that.

"Anyway, getting off topic. Sophie. I went by one day and Mum asked me to talk to her, and I ended up telling her that I was done supporting her. I'd spent so much of my life always being there for her, always picking her up out of the mud… and she refused to change because she knew that I'd always be there. And I was sick of it. I told her that she had to deal with her choices herself. That if she wouldn't listen to me and stop her behaviour with the drugs and alcohol and parties, I wasn't going to be there to keep taking her home. Those friends of hers were douches, and never cared for her."  
"Is this what you were talking about before Sweden?" Mycroft asked pensively.  
"Yeah." Greg nodded.

"Things were great for a while. I got myself a motorbike, and was loving the freedom. That was until she called me one day. I wasn't having the best day, I'd been having nightmares worrying about her. So I was seeing Alex, and having some particularly rough and kinky sex with him. During it, Sophie calls me. I had to answer… she wanted to meet. I agreed, and seriously pissed off Alex by doing so. By the time I got to the house, I was in a mood because of Sophie interrupting my life again.

"And that's when she tells me that she was pregnant. I… I instantly told her to get an abortion. She was fucking sixteen, for god's sake. I told her that she was ruining her life, and needed to change. But she didn't listen. She was insistent on keeping it. I shouted that she wasn't responsible for her own life, let alone another… but she said she'd change and do good by the baby. I lost it and said I wasn't going to be around for it, that if she was going to ignore me and ruin her life, I wasn't going to be there for her. And she … shouted back. She called me my father. She told me I was being exactly like him… that I was being abusive to her, that I was abandoning her when she needed me most, that I was insulting her because she wasn't going to follow _my_ rules. I…"

Mycroft could see how difficult talking about it was for Gregory. He embraced him gently as the tears fell out of his partner's eyes. He didn't even care if it was getting on his shirt. He just gently stroked Gregory's back. Greg sniffled and took a deep breath.

"Sorry."  
"Don't be sorry, darling. I am here for you." Mycroft said, kissing Gregory's head.  
"Thanks." Greg responded, smiling.

"So I left. But I knew she was right. I tried to deny it, but she told me outright that I was ashamed of her and how she'd turned out, and that I'd practically raised her… so I already failed at raising kids. And so I had no choice but to see… that's exactly what I was… I was my father. I'd grown up hating him, wishing he'd never been around, only to find out I was exactly the same. It tore me apart. But the thing she said last has stuck with me… that while I was telling her she shouldn't be a mother, it was me that shouldn't be a father. Not when I'd just inflict my father's evil upon them and ruin their lives like I did hers."  
Mycroft gasped quietly, but said nothing to allow Greg to continue.

"Mum didn't contact me after then, either. I mean, I knew she'd not want to have anything to do with me after that… she'd spent so much of her life with my father in it, she didn't want to have me around when I was exactly the same. But I was so alone, Myc. I stopped going out and seeing people, I didn't respond to Alex's texts both times, and I didn't even hang out with my housemates. I just was empty, going to work, coming home, and crying to myself alone in my room. It was then that I realised how deeply afraid of being alone I was. But I couldn't let myself go out and inflict myself upon anyone else.

"Three months after Sophie had told me she was pregnant, she calls me. She was scared that people were following her. I was annoyed that she was calling for me to help her again. She didn't care how I was faring… but, no one did. I told her to just go home, since the drugs always made her feel paranoid. I was disappointed that she was still taking drugs while pregnant. I told her to call mum, but apparently she and Aunt Marge had gone away for work. She kept telling me that she was being stalked, but I told her to just go home, and hung up. I fell asleep, and was woken a few hours later by the phone."  
"Sophie?"  
"…No." Greg whispered. Mycroft tilted his head.

"It was from the hospital. Sophie was there… she'd been attacked. Pretty badly, too. I got there as soon as I could. She'd been bloodied up pretty bad, and stabbed in the gut a couple of times. The baby didn't make it. She… she was distraught, but I … I … I was _glad_. I was fucking _glad_ that the baby had died, since I still believed it was going to ruin her life. I realised how much of a monster I was then. Sophie wanted nothing to do with me. Called me a cruel heartless bastard like my dad, and she was right. I asked her if she knew who did it to her, and she said it was her old friends. She'd actually left them, actually gone clean - no more drinking, drugs, parties with those scum…and they'd hunted her down and attacked her for it."

"My God…" Mycroft breathed. He held onto Gregory tighter.  
"I was beside myself with anger. I wanted to hunt them down and make them pay. But I knew I couldn't just do what they did to my sister to them, I wanted them to get justice. I'd been lost for a while, not knowing what to do with myself or where I was going in my life. But then in that moment I found a deep passion for taking those people to jail. I hadn't been passionate about anything before. It was that moment that I decided I was going to be a police officer."  
"A good reason." Mycroft commented.

"Yeah. So I was glad to be bringing low-lifes in for their crimes; it was giving me a purpose. I made amends with my mum a few years later, and was glad that I didn't feel so empty anymore. But I always knew I could never risk having children. I preferred to date men, but being gay on the force was met with some rather awful treatment. So I dated men in secret and waited to find a woman that I wouldn't mind marrying. But I was afraid to, because I didn't want to subject a family to what I had gone through. I couldn't bring myself to actually have kids, no matter how much I wanted it. I was just too afraid I'd devolve back into that person.

"My wife wasn't a perfect match for me, I knew it from the start. But she didn't want kids, and that was hard to find in a woman. Still, I didn't think that she'd turn out the way she did, with all the lying and cheating. Deep down I wasn't really happy from the start. But I didn't want to be alone anymore."

Greg was all but whispering by the time he'd finished. Mycroft just held him close, and uttered soothing words to him. Greg allowed himself to break down and sob into Mycroft. He was afraid of what Mycroft would think of him, but he felt so much lighter having gotten it off his chest. And so much closer to his fiancé now that he knew his dark past.

"Gregory, listen to me. You are the kindest, most caring and supportive man that I have known. You are not a monster, and you never were. You made the best of an awful situation. I don't know your father, but I know you… and you would make an excellent parent. Don't let some words, some actions, from so long ago keep you prisoner now. I mean Sophie has turned out just fine now, as we've seen." Mycroft said quietly.

"You… you are wonderful, you know that Myc?"  
"I know it's not going to be easy to just rewrite your opinion of yourself, but I will be here to help."  
"Thanks. It's nice to know you think I'd be a good dad. But I've kinda missed my chance with all that."  
"How so?"  
"Well… I'm a bit old now, and I'm marrying you…wait, are you saying you'd want to raise kids with me?"  
"I… I originally was opposed to having children. My job and personality are not conducive to rearing young. And I never … liked them. But being with you makes me think fondly upon the idea of having a family with you. I'm not saying yes, right now…just maybe, one day, in the future…" Mycroft spoke, originally off-guard.  
"Yes. Maybe, in the future." Greg repeated, and kissed him softly.


	7. Preparations

Sherlock was recovering well. He was being released from the hospital with orders of strict bedrest, which John was all too happy to enforce. John had moved back into 221B for the duration of Sherlock's recovery. Greg knew that John was using it as an excuse to avoid talking with Mary.

Greg and John had caught up a couple of times while Sherlock was still in the hospital. Greg hadn't pushed their meetings, knowing the doctor was rather stressed out as it was. But he wanted to ask John to be his best man, and had to ask soon as to give him time to organise a speech. And to tell him to plan a bachelor party not like John's own. Which was why Greg had summoned John out to the pub.

"Look, I'll come out and say it. I want you to be my best man, John." Greg said, sliding a pint over to John.  
"What… really?"  
"Of course, why not?"  
"I thought maybe Sherlock…"  
Greg chuckled.  
"Yeah, well, he's a good mate too. And has been one longer. But I want you. Besides, Mycroft's claimed Sherlock."  
"Sherlock is going to be Mycroft's best man? Christ."

Greg laughed and gave John a sly grin.  
"Actually, I think he's planning on asking him to be his bridesmaid."  
John dropped his jaw in shock briefly, and cleared his throat.  
"Oh, I… I hadn't realised Mycroft was… wanted… I mean, he wears suits all the time…"  
"Nah, mate, he's not going to be wearing a dress." Greg laughed. "I think he just wants to rile Sherlock up. Besides, of the two of us, he's more feminine. He actually wants to take on the bride role for the most part."  
"So, walking down the aisle but no dress?"  
"You got it."  
"Flowers?"  
"I … I doubt it. I don't actually know." Greg said, thinking to himself. It really was a strange toeing of the line Mycroft was doing regarding traditional roles at a wedding.

"But hey, you haven't actually said yes yet." Greg said pointedly.  
"Oh, of course, Greg. Certainly! I'd… I'm honoured." John spoke awkwardly, but smiling.  
"One request though."  
"Hm?"  
"No getting drunk at the bachelor party." Greg said raising his eyebrow. John groaned.  
"Oh, Christ no." John mumbled, remembering the disaster that had been his own.

"There's one more thing I need to say. Sherlock… he's… he's pretty insistent that Mary comes to the wedding."  
"What? Why? I don't get him. She shot him and lied to me. She bloody killed him and he's acting like she saved him out of kindness!"  
"She didn't kill him, John…"  
"Um, actually, yeah…she did. Didn't Mycroft tell you? They declared Sherlock dead. Stopped resuscitating him, declared time of death. And then he miraculously came back. There's only been a handful of instances of that happening before. So yeah, technically… Mary killed him."

Greg had frozen. No, he didn't know that, and he was pretty sure Mycroft didn't either. He wasn't sure if he should tell him or not.  
"I…er…no, I didn't know that. Fuck. That's…yeah. So Sherlock knows this?"  
"Yeah."  
"Well… I guess you have to trust him then, it's his life I suppose. Look, all he said to me was that Mary was family. He blabbed on something about me marrying Myc making him family to me and you being his family to him and Mary being your wife and so family to you… there were a lot of words, and I hadn't had my coffee yet. Point is, I said yes to shut him up."

John grumpily took a large swig of his beer. He muttered 'fine' to Greg, and so Greg decided to leave the issue be.

* * *

Greg walked into the bedroom, and found Mycroft standing in front of the mirror. He was wearing one of his suits, and there was another lain over the bed.  
"Big occasion coming up?" Greg asked, announcing his presence.  
"Indeed. Our wedding, remember." Mycroft commented, looking at Greg via the mirror.  
"I thought you'd want to get suits made."  
"I do, I just… wanted to get an idea of what I'd be in for." Mycroft commented cautiously. Greg wasn't exactly sure what he was meaning.

Mycroft turned to face Gregory's confused expression. He didn't know what to say. He knew that Gregory had been kind about his eating disorder, but he still didn't like to bring it up. The conflicting thought processes made him feel ashamed to even talk of it. He somehow found himself wishing that his fiancé would look about the room and deduce what was happening.

"You made an appointment to get our measurements taken, didn't you?" Greg stated after a few moments.  
"Yes." Mycroft said, impressed.  
"Myc…" Greg began, and walked up behind Mycroft. He lovingly slid his hands around the main's waist and held him close. Greg then kissed his cheek. Mycroft remained tense, awaiting what criticism was about to be said to him. Even kind words from Gregory were often felt as a dismissal, and Mycroft hated himself for it.

"Do you want to talk about what you're thinking or feeling?" Greg asked. Mycroft turned his head slightly, but remained looking at Gregory's compassionate brown eyes through the mirror.  
"I don't know what to say. The thoughts in my head are conflicting and I feel ashamed that I can't get things straight."  
"Tell me about them."  
"I… I can't stop hating the way I look. But I know you've told me you like it… me…and so I don't want to make you feel bad for my still hating my weight. I want to stop seeing the fat when I look at myself, but I can't. Some days I will look and be glad with the progress, but others I will just see how much further I can go. I want to look nice for our wedding. But I always dread getting my measurements taken. I want to stop eating, but I tell myself that it's not good for me. I am ashamed that I still think about vomiting when I have caved and eaten something I know I strictly shouldn't have. I hate that I love the taste of food, unhealthy food… and I hate that I am drawn to it when I am stressed or feeling down. And I don't like that I want to keep being avoidant of food in order to remain thin." Mycroft rambled out all at once. He felt like if he said it all quickly, it would just be over soon. But instead he found himself waiting in panic while Gregory processed the information.

"Mycroft, none of what you've told me is to feel ashamed about. That's just something that happens when you have an eating disorder. I … guess. I don't actually know a whole lot about them, but it all sounded pretty reasonable to me. All I can say for certain is that I love you, and all that entails. Your body, your mind, your issues… all of it. You know I don't care about your weight beyond making you happy. Because it's the being happy part I care about. I know it's not going to just go away, but let me tell you … you look damn sexy in anything you wear, or don't wear." Greg said, ending his comment with a flirtatious smirk.

Mycroft held his partner's hands. Greg then tugged him so that they were facing each other, and kissed him.  
"So, tell me how it went with Sherlock."  
"Oh, he was utterly offended, as expected." Mycroft said, glee spreading across his face.  
"Did he demand he wasn't going to wear a dress?"  
"Indeed. I … may have suggested he do so, and reminded him of the 'tradition' he was informed of last wedding."

Greg had to stop and think about that one, and then burst out laughing.  
"And?"  
"And he was rather abrasive in his response, but I could see the hope flash across his face."  
"Yeah. Still, it's a bit sad, really."  
"Yes, but remember, I was the 'bit sad' one whilst you were married."

Mycroft smiled warmly and kissed Gregory.  
"I am glad that you are intelligent enough for conversations such as these, and for deducing what was bothering me. I am used to having to explain everything, like that the tradition was the copulation of the bridesmaid and best man, and that John is your best man…"  
"Shh… it's ok, Myc. Just because your brother calls me an idiot, doesn't mean I am."

Greg hugged Mycroft close and rested his head on the man's chest.  
"Only three weeks left. Three weeks and we're married."  
"Indeed. I had not expected it to be so easy to plan."  
"You do realise Anthea has been the one to organise anything you've decided on?"

Mycroft chuckled.  
 _Yes, that would be why it's been so easy thus far._


	8. My Husband

Mycroft stood tall before the mirror. He was nervous, but excited at the same time. His mother came up behind him, wearing a stylish purple and blue dress.  
"You look wonderful, my dear. Are you ready?"

Mycroft turned and smiled, but shuffled on the spot. He was, he was ready. But his heart was still pounding in his chest. He was wearing a slate-blue suit with, of course, a waist coat, which was a light cool grey. His shirt was white and he wore a grey silk tie to match his waistcoat. He really didn't look all that different to normal, part of the downfalls of wearing suits all the time, but he still felt that the attire was different enough to be special. Gregory had insisted that he try look a bit different for the wedding, but still look like him. Mycroft wasn't sure if he'd succeeded, but he did at least like the suit.

Greg let his eyes drift over the small company before him. Greg had wanted a large wedding, but nothing too fancy. Mycroft had wanted an extremely upper class and intimately small affair. They compromised to have an elegant wedding with more than just direct family. The place was beautiful; flowers garnished the windows, the building itself was ornate and grandiose, and the smattering of chairs before him were laden with their closest friends and family. The room was just the right size for the fifteen guests without appearing claustrophobic or hollow. He could see Mary sitting with Mrs Hudson, behind Anthea… his mother, Margret, Sophie and her husband sitting on the other side of the aisle. Donovan and Anderson were there as well, surprisingly, seated together at the back. He wasn't sure whom a few of the others were, dignitaries of Mycroft's choosing.

John stood by his side, waiting. Greg was in a black suit, white shirt, and a tie that matched the colour of Mycroft's jacket. It was the first suit he'd ever had tailored, and it felt wonderful.  
"Excited?" John asked into Greg's ear.  
"Yeah. And nervous."  
"Why nervous?"  
"Don't know. It's a big thing, getting married."  
"You love him, and he loves you. That's all that matters. Nothing terrible is going to happen."  
"You… you remember your wedding, right?" Greg asked somewhat playfully, turning to look his best man in the eye. John laughed.

Violet looped her arm around her son's and began to walk out of the room with him in tow.  
"I'm so proud of you, Mycroft."  
"Thank you, Mummy."  
Violet kissed his cheek. Sherlock appeared at the doorway, smiling. He wanted to be annoyed at Mycroft, but he couldn't help but be happy for him.  
"You're nervous." Sherlock stated.  
"Obviously."  
"Why? Marrying Lestrade is what you want."  
"Sherlock, leave your brother alone." Violet reprimanded, much to Mycroft's delight, and released her son from her grip. Mycroft's father stepped out to join them, and smiled at his son. He stuck out his elbow for Mycroft to take.

Music started playing, the string quartet that Mycroft insisted upon, and there was shuffling from all the people in the room. Greg stood up straight, and patted down his front. It was this moment, when Greg saw the entire room turn to look expectantly at the door, Greg wondered why Mycroft decided he wanted to walk up to the altar. Sherlock appeared in the doorway, attempting to look unimpressed but failing miserably, followed by Violet Holmes, and then behind them walked in Mycroft, arms linked with his father.

Mycroft's heart jumped when he saw all the people staring at him, but the fear melted away when he saw Gregory's face beaming at him from the altar. That gorgeous, genuine smile that warmed Mycroft's heart beckoned him closer.  
 _It's ok. Everything is fine. As long as he's here, everything will always be fine._

Greg watched Mycroft's movements closely as he slowly stepped towards him. He felt electricity surging through his veins, and he couldn't help but think that it wasn't like this last time. He felt giddy with love, almost like he was trembling from the anticipation, but with the constant reassurance that everything was going to be ok, because Mycroft would always be there.  
 _How it's supposed to be._

The 'bridal' party filled out into their places, and Mycroft stood before Gregory. He gazed into those chocolatey depths that shone up at him, smiling as he lost himself in the emotions reflected. Greg reached out and took Mycroft's hands gently, acutely aware of the soft tingles that the man's skin caused to rush through his body. Mycroft's eyes darted to see the guests staring at them, and Greg could tell he was a little weary of being the object of attention. So Greg just smiled reassuringly to him and softly squeezed his hands. Mycroft focused on the feeling of Gregory's hands, and was able to ignore the roomful of eyes in favour for the stunning man before him.

The officiant spoke, but neither Greg nor Mycroft could hear him clearly. They were too wrapped up in staring at each other, unbelieving that it was actually happening. And then they were asked to say their vows. Mycroft went first.

"Gregory. Before you, I was just an icy shell. You have brought light into my life, and a reason to be. I didn't think I could be happy before you came into my life. When I first met you, I instantly saw how kind you were. Ever since that day, you never ceased to amaze me with your heart and mind. I know where I would be without you, and I worry what would have become of my brother as well. For so long, you were like family. The glue keeping us together and surviving. You became family when you saved me and gave me a purpose. And I am so very grateful to you for that, and for being given the chance to make it official today… and to live the rest of my life with you as _my_ family.

"I vow to always stay by your side, no matter what life throws at us. We've already been through enough together, but I believe that it has just made us stronger. I know that I will sometimes be a difficult man to love, with my obligations. And it might even be dangerous. But my dear, I vow I will do everything in my power to keep you safe… and you know what that means."

Greg nodded softly as Mycroft spoke the words. He knew that not everyone in the room would really understand the meaning behind what Mycroft had just said, but that didn't matter. It was special between them. Greg took a breath and quietly cleared his throat.

"Mycroft, I thought I knew what happiness was before you, but I was just floating in a grey cloud; lost and cut off to joy until you made me feel happiness, true happiness, again. You brought me back from the darkest place I've ever been. You called me your sunshine, and your light… but really, you are mine as well. I feel safe around you, knowing that no matter what happens you'll be there. I can be myself, and I can be entirely open with you… because I know you won't leave. You've already proven you'll stick by me when the going gets tough, and I vow that I will do the same for you as well. I vow I'll always be there to catch you when you fall, to save you. And I vow to always try my best to make you happy."

Mycroft smiled again, one of the rare times that the smile reached his eyes in public. Greg wished the man would smile like that more often, but also felt special that such raw emotion was reserved solely for him. They slipped the rings on each other's fingers, revelling in the moment. The rings were much the same as the engagement ones, gold for Mycroft and white gold for Greg, except these were engraved with the other's name on the inside.

The officiant then concluded the ceremony.  
"You may now kiss."

Greg tugged Mycroft's hands gently as he leaned in to kiss him. His heart was pounding in excitement: their first kiss as a married couple. Mycroft was also excited, his lip trembling slightly. The small crowd applauded, and they could hear Mrs Hudson cry out in joy. Greg slid his hands around Mycroft's waist and kissed him again, deeper this time. They broke apart to stare into each other's eyes, foreheads touching, smiles beaming across their faces.  
"My husband." Greg uttered.  
"My husband." Mycroft repeated, and gently stroked Gregory's cheek with his thumb. He'd never really understood the phrase 'tears of joy' before, but as he stood there holding his husband, he knew. He felt the liquid filling his eyes. He didn't care if emotions made him weak anymore, because they made him _alive_. And life with Gregory was all he wanted.

* * *

Greg and Mycroft were standing pressed together, Greg's arms wrapped around Mycroft's waist, and Mycroft's arms on Greg's shoulders, as they slow danced together. Sherlock sat at the table and watched them. He couldn't help but feel sad deep down as his eyes flickered over to John. His brother had found happiness, and fate worked out that they could be together. Sherlock couldn't help but feel upset that fate hadn't done the same for him. He'd grown up with Mycroft telling him that caring is not an advantage, that he should not give in to the emotions… and yet here his brother was, blissfully wrapped up with his new husband. Sherlock was beginning to see that maybe Mycroft had been wrong, and that Mycroft had realised that too. Mycroft had talked of not being alive before Greg had come into his life… and that's how Sherlock felt about John.

Sherlock sighed and stood up to leave. He didn't want to watch anymore. He was glad that his brother was finally, finally happy. He'd been chronically anhedonic for long enough. But it just served as a reminder that the one person whom could do the same for him was out of the question. Mary was sitting alone, also eyeing John with a sad look. Sherlock didn't really want to have a conversation, but he felt obligated to bring happiness into John's life however he could… _'that's just what you do when you love someone'_ Greg's words echoed in his head. John had been happy with Mary. And so Sherlock sat down with her.

"They are perfect for one another, aren't they?" Mary commented.  
"Yes. I'm glad things worked out for my brother. He does deserve to be happy after all this time." Sherlock responded without thinking. But he was comforted knowing that Mary would at least keep his words to herself.  
"I thought things were going to be just wedded bliss with me and John. But I should have known things would be revealed eventually. Secrets just don't say secret the closer to someone you get."  
Sherlock wasn't sure if she was just talking about herself, or making a comment about Sherlock's feelings for John.  
"He was happy with you. He will be again. I vowed I'd always be there for you… you three are my family. Well, those two idiots over there as well too." Sherlock stated affectionately, pointedly jerking his thumb at the two men locked together in a loving embrace, occasionally kissing. Mary chuckled and smiled. She then let her eyes drift away from Greg and Mycroft standing flush together and over to the lonely doctor at the table in the corner.

"I'll talk him 'round." Sherlock said, repeating what Mary has said to him all that time ago.  
"You will?" She asked, smiling while copying what Sherlock's expression had been at the time - minus the nosebleed.  
"Yeah. I will." Sherlock said with a smile. He wanted John to be happy, even if it wasn't with him.

Greg nuzzled Mycroft's neck and ran his fingers through his hair. Mycroft softly stroked Gregory's back. He felt so warm and content.  
"It was a good day." Greg commented quietly.  
"Indeed."  
"And nothing horrible happened. It was all just… normal." Greg said with a smile.  
"You expected otherwise?"  
"You never know, I thought the universe might have had a field day with all of us in the same room at once."  
Mycroft chuckled a deep, throaty giggle. He hummed in response and ran his hand up and down Gregory's back.  
"It seems the universe has decided to be lazy today."  
"Good. I hope it stays lazy while we're on our honeymoon." Greg said, remembering that Mycroft had insisted that he still be available for emergencies that might arise while he was away. He didn't think it was selfish to demand his new husband be off the grid for a week, talking with only him. Well, 'talking' was low on the list of things Greg had plans to do with Mycroft all week.

Greg kissed Mycroft again, relishing the feeling of the warm body pressed against his.  
"There was just one weird thing. Why did Sherlock give you a fishbowl?"  
Mycroft actually laughed out loud at that. Greg pulled away from Mycroft to give him an inquisitive look. Mycroft just shook his head, and returned to cuddling and swaying to the soft music.


	9. Sherlock's Secret

_Fair warning: mentions of rape in this chapter. Nothing bad, but it's there_.

* * *

The honeymoon had been spectacular. Mycroft allowed himself to indulge, and Greg …continued to indulge. They ate some of the most delicious foods Greg had tasted before. Mycroft had been hesitant regarding consuming so much dessert, but Greg had reminded him crudely that he'd be burning all the calories off each day.

The sex had been amazing. Long, passionate, and frequent. Greg was surprised they'd even had enough energy to go sight seeing. Mycroft had thought it'd be nice to spend it in France, even though Greg didn't speak a word of French despite his namesake. Greg wanted to bring home as much pastries and chocolate as he could, and Mycroft happily let him buy as much as he wanted. Mycroft had indeed put in some extra effort to be the more active participant in many of their encounters because of the sheer quantity of decadent foods Gregory fed him.

Greg let his mind wander back over the previous week. He still got tingles thinking about their needy, passionate kissing before stripping each other and fucking furiously on the expensive hotel beds.  
"Greg, are you even listening?"

Greg snapped out of his mind and returned his attention to Sherlock. The man stood before him with a frown, and then sighed and rolled his eyes.  
"Look, if you're going to just get yourself worked up remembering your sex holiday, then you might as well just go home and continue your amorous activities with my brother." Sherlock grumbled.  
Greg coughed uncomfortably. Sherlock wasn't wrong about getting himself worked up. He shifted in his seat and crossed his legs.  
"No, no I'm here to listen."

His friend had called him over to talk, but he hadn't specified as to what. Greg could tell something had been bothering him, and assumed it was about John. Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself and threw himself onto the couch. Greg noticed the wince.  
"Hey, be careful. You're still going to be tender for a while, even if you forget it."  
"Yes, Mother."  
"I'm just saying from experience." Greg said solemnly, which was enough to get Sherlock to stop pouting and nod in response. There was silence, and Greg's gut churned uncomfortably. There was something on Sherlock's mind.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, Sherlock?"  
"What are you talking about?"  
"I'm married to your brother, I know when a Holmes has something on their mind."  
"Are you sure you're not just looking for an excuse to say that?" Sherlock sneered at him.  
"Haha, yes, I do love hearing those words… but I'm serious. You are distracted."  
"I… I invited John and Mary to Christmas dinner."

Greg frowned.  
 _What Christmas dinner?_

"Oh, Mycroft hasn't told you? My parents have organised to have a Christmas dinner with the family."  
"Right…" Greg said, disconcerted that he was hearing about it from Sherlock.  
"Relax, Lestrade. I'm sure he was going to tell you, he's not ashamed of you. He did marry you in a fairly public fashion."  
"Yes, yes of course. I just have a standing Christmas dinner with my mum planned. I'll talk to him. So… you invited John and Mary? Why? Are they… alright?"  
"Um… I did talk with John and he's thinking. I invited them because I was told it was a _family_ event."

Greg smiled. But then the smile slowly faded. He had to be the one to bring it up.  
"Sherlock… why are you trying so hard to keep John and Mary together?"  
"Because… I want him to be happy." Sherlock uttered quietly. Greg knew he wasn't used to talking about his feelings much, and so tried to go slowly.

"Look, don't get me wrong… Mary is a great person, the … the shooting aside. John was happy with him. But you forcing them together might not be the best outcome."  
"John can forgive betrayal. And it certainly strengthened your relationship with Mycroft."  
"Yes, and yes… but Sherlock, the point I'm trying to make is… well… what about you?"

Sherlock sat up from the couch and looked directly at Greg.  
"What about me?"  
"Are you really willing to let him go?"  
"I … I would do anything for John."  
"So why not be honest with him about your feelings?"  
"I… I … he… he won't…" Sherlock stammered. Greg sighed and shifted so he was sitting forward on the chair.  
"He wouldn't want me." Sherlock finally said, almost too quiet for Greg to hear. Greg was surprised.

"Why?"  
"I… I'm not someone that… people … want, for a relationship." Sherlock managed to strangle out, and Greg knew there was something he wasn't saying.  
"Tell me what happened, Sherlock."  
"Forgive me if I don't want to discuss my sexual history with you."  
"I get that, but I think you need to, and I think I'm the only one who you have to tell."

Sherlock eyed him cautiously, and then smirked… Lestrade was indeed becoming more observant. He wrestled with the idea of actually being open about his secret, but concluded that Greg was his friend, and brother-in-law, and had proven he could be trusted.  
 _Perhaps it's time that Mycroft found out._

"Mary told me at your wedding that the closer you get to someone, the harder it is to have secrets from them. I know that by telling this to you, you'll find it difficult to keep it from my brother. He doesn't know, as it is, but I am giving you permission to tell him. Just don't let him do anything drastic in response." Sherlock stated, before slouching forward. He sighed, took a deep breath and then faced Greg with a strengthened resolve.

"It was when I was seventeen. As you can imagine, I was not well liked in school. Everyone made it clear they didn't like me, and no one would dare to be seen with me in fear of being made fun of as well. It wasn't fun, I grant you, but I didn't mind as such. I felt like an outsider even when interacting with them, and so being alone wasn't all that different. Still, I couldn't help but long for the companionship that I observed my classmates having. And I couldn't stop myself from feeling… things… regarding a boy.

"His name was Daniel, but everyone called him Danny. He was very athletic, and was always playing sports of some kind. He was rather popular. As much as I didn't want to get emotionally involved, I couldn't help myself. I would sneak to the field to watch him play his games, I would try not to cause suspicion if I eyed him in the hallways. I couldn't control my reactions to him."

"Sounds like he was your first crush." Greg said with a grin. Sherlock shot him a look that said 'don't interrupt me', but also nodded.

"I couldn't stop thinking about him. I knew he'd never want to be with me, since I was so hated by everyone … but I found myself wishing he'd notice me. He was a year above me, but I was placed in advanced classes and so I ended up being in a couple of his. I tried to keep my head down and just do the work in those classes, but every now and again he'd catch me gazing at him. And the thing was… he didn't shout at me for it. He'd just give me a grin. And so I began to think that maybe there was more to him than met the eye.

"Not long into the school year, he approached me. We were alone and in a secluded area, and he told me that he was amazed by my intellect, and wanted to know if I'd help him in his studies. I was shocked. No one had ever said that to me before. I admit that I was stunned and didn't return the most elegant of responses, but I agreed none the less. But he made it clear to me that no one could know.

"Pretty soon Danny would come over to my house. He'd somehow manage to get me to do his homework for him, and I was too besotted by him to care. All it took was a look from him with pleading eyes and I'd do as he asked. Then one day, out of nowhere, he came really close to me. He whispered in my ear that he knew I liked him, and that he liked me back. He then grabbed me and kissed me. I couldn't believe it. I'd dreamt of it happening but never thought it possible."

"Aw, that's sweet." Greg cried out, before rectifying his 'listening' pose at Sherlock's glare.

"For a time. He was insistent to keep the relationship a secret, because he didn't want anyone knowing he was gay. I didn't object, I was just glad he wanted me. But I started finding things difficult. I grew extremely attached to him emotionally, and so it began to really hurt me when he'd join in with his football buddies in tormenting me at school. He never really initiated it, but he could be quite demeaning in his words towards me. I'd tell him I didn't like it, but he'd just say that I shouldn't pay attention to it since it wasn't how he really felt. That he liked me, but still had to keep up appearances at school. That it was all just an act and so I was silly to listen. It didn't sit right with me, but I was afraid that the alternative was that he'd just leave me … and so I just said nothing.

"It didn't take long for Danny to start to get physical with me. He'd touch me in places that I was uncomfortable with. But when I told him as such, he'd just tell me it was cause I was inexperienced. That I'd get used to it. But I never did. Every time he'd grope me suddenly, I felt my stomach flip - and not in an exciting way. Like I was going to be sick. I would just want him to stop, because I felt intimidated by the fervour he'd touch me with. But he'd whisper nice things into my ear, tell me it was all ok, and to just let it happen.

"When he started trying to take it further, I actually stopped him and said that I was uncomfortable with sex. That I didn't want to, that I wasn't ready. He just said that I was nervous since it was the first time, and that everyone is nervous. He reminded me that no one else was going to want to do that with me, and so I should be happy that he was. But the thought of sex with him scared me, and so I didn't just give in that time. And then he changed. Those aggressive parts of his personality that had made me uncomfortable in the past all came out at once. He grabbed me and shouted at me, insulting me. Told me I wasn't man enough to do it, and so he'd have to just show me how it was done. He… took me, and … used me. I was too scared to resist, as he was a lot stronger than I was and he was already using a lot of force. It… it hurt. Physically and emotionally. No part of it was comfortable. He'd still tell me that I should be grateful while forcing himself into me. That I owed it to him for putting up with me. And then once he was done, he just left. I didn't know what else to do but curl up and cry."

"Sherlock…you… your first experience was rape?" Greg asked hesitantly. He didn't want to say 'only', but he had a feeling that was true as well. Sherlock gravely nodded.

"I couldn't trust anyone. I felt so hurt and betrayed. I wanted to tell Mycroft what had happened… but I was terrified. I couldn't even tell why. I just knew I couldn't trust anyone anymore. Mycroft had moved on to goodness knows what and I barely saw him. But still, I sought comfort from him. He'd always been there for me before. He thought that I was upset because the other boys were teasing me. They all went back to teasing me after that… Danny wasn't friendly towards me after that day. Mycroft thought it was normal that I swore off relationships or anything to do with them, telling me that he'd always thought I seemed asexual and so it wasn't a surprise. So he told me again how caring wasn't an advantage, and I saw his point. Not wanting a relationship meant I wouldn't get hurt. I kept my distance from everyone since then, like he'd done. I sometimes wondered if he did it for the same reason.

"So from then on I tried to continue my studies and work without thinking about relationships. Mycroft was right, it was easier to just not care about it than to long for something I couldn't have." Sherlock concluded, looking horrifically uncomfortable but relieved at the same time.

"Why do you think you can't have a relationship, Sherlock?" Greg asked inquisitively.  
"Because I can't give a partner what they need. I'm afraid of them getting frustrated at the lack of sex and it ending up the same way… taking it because they think they're owed it from me."  
"Surely you don't think John would do that…"  
"I… I don't think so, no. But he is a sexual person, and his temper is sometimes alarmingly similar to Danny. And I try to hide how it scares me. Besides, I couldn't give him a physical relationship as he'd need, even if I crave an emotional one."

Greg nodded solemnly, and his eyes flickered about. It was indeed unusual to hear Sherlock talk of himself in such a way. But there was something eating at his mind.  
"Sherlock, I have to ask… are you legitimately not interested in sex, or are you afraid of it from your past?"

Sherlock stilled and looked contemplative. He sunk down further and uttered his response, barely a whisper.  
"I have had physical desires. I try hard to shove them away."  
"Denying yourself that isn't healthy for you, Sherlock; and it just goes to show that you could give John what he needs for a complete relationship - not that I believe John would require sex from you, just that I think he'd like sex to be a part of his relationship…"  
"I am aware, Lestrade. I…I just… am unable."

Greg raised his eyebrow questioningly. Sherlock sighed, flushing slightly red.  
"Every time I feel any sexual desire, I suddenly feel panic and overwhelmed. My mind rushes back to that moment in my past, and I end up feeling just anxiety… nothing else. It crushes out any desire I might have had, both mentally and physically. It's better to just not want it."

Greg swallowed gently.  
"Sherlock, I'm going to be honest. I think you have a real trauma with this. But it can be better if you want it to be. I mean, you don't have to…you can chose to be asexual not nor participate in relationships — sexual or otherwise. But I think you do want a relationship with John, and I think this issue will become a problem for you in the future. I'm not saying you have to address it now, but that… I honestly don't believe John would be like Danny, and he'd always make you feel comfortable. And if that happens, you might feel the desire to go further, and then have this stand in the way."

Sherlock frowned and grumbled softly, but Greg knew that that meant he was right and Sherlock knew it. Greg nodded to his friend with a smile.  
"Thank you for sharing. Did it help?"  
"I… I think so, actually. It's… nice to not have it be a secret anymore." Sherlock admitted. Greg patted him on the arm gently.  
"I'm glad I could help. It's what family is for."  
"I still am going to keep trying get John and Mary together again, though."

Greg sighed. Of course he was.  
"Why?"  
"I promised. And considering I've only just spoken about my difficulties for the first time, it will be some time before I'm ready to take that step and try a relationship. John needn't suffer while I try fix myself. I am happy to have him in my life in any regard."  
"He's a good bloke, you should still talk to him. I'm sure he'd wait."  
"But then we have the problem of him still being married and not gay."  
"Well, I think only one of those is actually a problem." Greg said with a grin, and raised his eyebrow at Sherlock, leaving him to figure out which it was.  
"Just talk to him at least."  
"I… fine. I can see you aren't going to let it go. I'll talk with him, but not in this detail, obviously. That is for you and you alone." Sherlock grumbled, but Greg could tell he was secretly pleased to have been given permission.


	10. A Stressful Christmas

Greg was sitting with Mycroft at the dinner table. He'd made seared salmon with a green salad, and a dill and tarragon sauce. Greg was almost half way, but Mycroft had barely started. Greg had noticed his husband's reluctance to eat as of late, and so had tried to prepare him some tasty, but healthy, meals in the hopes he'd eat a decent amount.  
"I spoke with Sherlock today. He said that your family is having a Christmas dinner this year?"

Mycroft looked up from his plate. He nodded stiffly, obviously indicating his dislike for such an event.  
"Yes. My mother has decided that since Sherlock is out of hospital, we should all get together as a family."  
"Sounds reasonable."  
"It will be arduous. I apologise for not telling you sooner, and that you had to hear it from my brother. I have been busy as of late at work and I neglected to bring it up."  
"That's ok, love. I noticed. I only bring it up because we had already agreed to go to my Mum's for Christmas."

Mycroft's face fell as he remembered. The sheer anxiety of Christmas with his family had pushed any thoughts of attending Gregory's family's dinner well into the background.  
"Forgive me, I had forgotten."  
"Nah, that's alright. I still have to go, family tradition and all that. But I can come up to your parents' place the day after?"  
"You are really ok with me not attending Christmas with you and your family on the first year of our marriage?" Mycroft asked with a frown. He'd honestly hoped that Gregory would join him to his parents' dinner.  
"Well, no. But it is how it is. Don't worry, it'll be fine. I'll get to see you the next morning." Greg said, grinning as his shovelled the last of his salmon into his mouth. Mycroft smiled back and shook his head playfully at the glee his husband showed from eating.

They finished up their meal in silence, Greg occasionally sipping wine while Mycroft slowly cleared his plate. He then collected the dishes and put them on the sink.  
"So, what else did you talk about with my dear brother?" Mycroft asked as he carried over their glasses. A pang of anxiety tugged at Greg's gut, but he decided to try and just talk about it casually. Probably not as casual as bursting out with, 'hey, so did you know Sherlock was raped?', though.  
"Oh, um, we talked about sex."

Mycroft froze and nearly dropped the glasses on the bench.  
"Excuse me? You discussed our sex life with my brother?"  
"Haha, oh lord no. He'd never stay in the room long enough to hear it. Not that I would tell him intimate details. No, we talked about his." Greg said, putting the dishes into the dishwasher. He could feel Mycroft raise his eyebrow in that adorable fashion.  
"What sex life? His pining after John?"  
"No, well yeah, that was part of it. He actually told me about his first, and I suspect only, sexual experience. He was in high school."  
"He… he never told me." Mycroft stated, a little hurt.  
"It… didn't end well, he said he felt he couldn't tell you."  
"What do you mean, Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was clipped as he asked. Greg stood up and faced him.  
"He…er…he was raped. By his abusive so-called partner. Then he decided that he never wanted to attempt any kind of relationship again." Greg said.

Mycroft frowned. He could hear the blood rush through his body. He was so very angry that someone had done that to his little brother, and so ashamed that he'd not known about it. That Sherlock had felt like he couldn't tell him.

"Mycroft, deep breaths, remember?" Greg commented, noticing that Mycroft was headed for another panic attack. He'd been having them more frequently since Sherlock was shot; Greg figured he still wasn't as over it as he'd said. Mycroft nodded at his husband, and focused just on taking regular breaths.

"Who?" Mycroft managed to ask.  
"I don't know, Myc, but Sherlock told me to make you promise not to do anything drastic in retaliation. So I'm assuming he's not going to want to tell you who."

Mycroft looked away, still tense.  
"Listen, why don't we just relax with a movie now. You can tell me about how you're feeling, that usually helps." Greg suggested, using his arm to indicate to the living room. Mycroft nodded, and walked up to hug Gregory close.  
"At least I got him to agree to talk to John about his feelings."  
"You are a miracle, Gregory dear." Mycroft said, kissing his husband's head.  
"I know, you've told me." Greg responded with a cheeky grin.

* * *

Mycroft breathed deeply, trying to suppress the irritation bubbling up. He wished Gregory was there with him. Hours on end with his family, minus the most important member to him, was not his idea of an enjoyable Christmas. Sherlock was being particularly irritating. But, at least it seemed like he was going to have 'the conversation' with John. It was obvious he'd brought his junkie friend to orchestrate a private moment. Ordinarily Mycroft would have resisted and revealed his brother's little plan, but the knowledge of Sherlock's past made him just let Sherlock do what he needed. Mycroft had been subdued since finding out. But he couldn't help his frustration at being alone seep through. His mother hadn't let him just attend Gregory's Christmas instead, and he was intent on letting her know he wasn't thrilled about it.

"Am I happy too, I haven't checked?" Mycroft quipped with a rehearsed grin. His mother didn't miss the meaning.  
"Behave, Myc!" Violet told him exasperatedly. The nickname ground against him, reminding him of Gregory.  
"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end…"

Thankfully, Sherlock's friend interrupted. Mycroft continued to grumble to himself in his head that Sherlock got to invite anyone he liked, but he couldn't be excused to spend Christmas Day with his husband. He was also not impressed at his mother's scolding of him in favour for praising Sherlock, but he guessed that wasn't anything new. Violet Holmes always had thought of Mycroft as uncaring and 'should know better', but Sherlock was her precious little boy. Not entirely unlike Gregory's raising, Mycroft thought to himself.

Once their mother had left the room, Sherlock turned to Mycroft.  
"Uncharacteristically brash with her, aren't you? Missing your husband that much?"  
"If it's all the same to you, Sherlock, I'd appreciate it if you'd shut it."  
"My, my, you are irritable."  
"Just get your conversation with him over with."  
"Lestrade told you?"  
"Of course he did. Sherlock…" Mycroft began to talk, but their mother walked back into the kitchen. He promptly shut his mouth.  
"Drink your punch, Mycroft. Then, come outside; we can talk out there for a moment." Sherlock said, slowly standing up. Mycroft frowned, but drank his glass of punch. It was indeed laced with sedatives, but he said nothing. No doubt his brother didn't want any eavesdropping, although it was a rather extreme measure to ensure it.

Mycroft stood by Sherlock's side, both of them staring out away from the house.  
"You could have told me, Sherlock." Mycroft said with a tone of sorrow.  
"I was afraid. You were off doing things you couldn't tell me about, and I didn't think you'd react well."  
"I would have helped. I certainly wouldn't have just continued to push you to stay away from people. I'm… I'm sorry."  
"What?"  
"I said I'm sorry. I wanted to always be there for you."  
"You've gotten emotional in your relationship, brother mine."  
"Yes," Mycroft agreed slowly, breathing in his cigarette, "But I believe it has been for the better. I hope that you might find the same." Mycroft hinted, and coughed briefly. He'd quit for Gregory, but the day had been proving rather stressful and he'd decided that Gregory wasn't there to scold him for it. His body was seemingly rebelling against the old habit. Sherlock nodded to him, and then they both straightened themselves; their intimate conversation over.

"I'm glad you've given up on the Magnussen business." Mycroft stated, changing the topic of conversation.  
"Are you?" Sherlock asked, glad that his brother believed so.  
"I'm still curious, though. It's hardly you usual kind of puzzle. Why do you hate him?"  
"Because he attacks people who are different and preys on their secrets. Why don't you?" Sherlock snapped.  
"He never causes too much damage to anyone important, he's far too intelligent for that. He's a business man, that's all. And occasionally useful to us. A necessary evil, not a dragon for you to slay." Mycroft stated, trying hard not to say anything that would entice his brother further. He really didn't want the Eurus thing revealed. Sherlock turned and smiled.  
"A dragon slayer? Is that what yo think of me?"  
"No," Mycroft said with a brotherly grin, "It's what you think of yourself."

Their close moment was broken by their mother snapping at them. They both reacted much as they had as boys, and it was hard for Mycroft not to giggle. He then told Sherlock about the job offer that his colleagues had been insistent Mycroft relay. He was glad that Sherlock declined without retaliation. He was not glad, however, when Sherlock sounded honest when he asked why Mycroft didn't want him to take the suicide mission. He turned to his brother, trying hard not to let his pain show. He responded with his usual bullshit, hoping Sherlock would see beyond the mask.

"Here be dragons." Mycroft said with clear fondness in his voice. He involuntarily coughed again and decided that rebelling against his husband's wishes wasn't worth it.  
"This isn't agreeing with me. I'm going in."  
"You need low tar, you still smoke like a beginner." Sherlock mused as Mycroft walked back into the house. Mycroft paused. He … he couldn't keep it in. Since Gregory came along, he'd been a lot more open about his emotions and affections. It had been a good change. He wanted to try and keep that change, even with his brother… particularly since the shooting. Learning that it was his cold detachment that had prevented Sherlock seeing out his help after being raped made Mycroft want to be honest with his little brother about his affections.

"Also," Mycroft began, "Your loss would break my heart."  
Sherlock coughed.  
"What the _hell_ am I supposed to say to that?"  
"Merry Christmas?" Mycroft offered after turning to face Sherlock.  
"You hate Christmas." Sherlock retorted, still confused.  
"Yes. Perhaps there was something in the punch?" Mycroft suggested, but really meant to let his brother know that he knew what he was planning, and was wishing him luck with his conversation with John.  
"Clearly. Go and have some more." Sherlock stated, not wanting Mycroft to suspect anything other than just 'private time with John'.

Mycroft walked back into the house and sat at the table in the kitchen. He resisted the urge to phone Gregory. He could feel drowsiness start to take a hold of him, and he suddenly wished that he'd elected to sit in the couch. It was faster than he expected; he didn't even feel himself lowering down onto the tabletop.

* * *

When Mycroft stirred awake, he realised that the cold hard kitchen table, and his hand, were pressing up against his face. He groaned, and then sat up, undoubtedly having an impression of his hand remaining on his cheek. He blearily looked about: his mother was still in the chair opposite him, and there wasn't any movement anywhere in the house. And then that was when he realised something was missing. He grasped the empty space between where his hand had been and the table, searching for his laptop. His stomach dropped. What had his brother done?

He jumped up and immediately began to search the house.  
"Sherlock?!" He called, but he knew there was no point. His brother wasn't there. There'd only be one reason for him to steal Mycroft's laptop. His mind raced at a million miles and hour. He heard groaning noises, knowing that his family were awakening.  
"John?" Mary weakly called out.  
"Mary?" Mycroft responded, and walked into the living room to see Mary trying to sit up.  
"Mycroft? What's going on?"  
"Something… unfortunate." Mycroft groaned, unwilling to reveal what was happening. Mary's stern look at him made him relinquish his control. He let his worry seep out over his face.  
"I fear my brother, and your husband, have stolen state secrets to sell to Magnussen in exchange for your safety."  
"Oh, God… what are we going to do?"  
"First, I'm going to call work. I believe I can make this work in my favour… excuse me." Mycroft said, stepping away and pulling out his phone. His first instinct was to call Gregory, but he shook his head slightly and phoned Anthea.

Moments later, Mycroft returned to the living room, where his parents were both now conjugated.  
"I have informed the authorities as to the situation, and they will be sending a helicopter shortly to take me to Magnussen. I assured them that it is, in all likelihood, Magnussen blackmailing my brother into bringing the laptop to him — that it was he requesting to be sold the information. But I can use that as an advantage. Extortion to gain state secrets is punishable on the highest levels, and we will gain the legal rights to search the premises to find more incriminating evidence. You are lucky that such a catch as Magnussen is enough to absolve any transgressions made by your husband, as well as my brother." Mycroft stated, his anxiety lowering now that he had control of the situation again. Mary just nodded thankfully at him, and his parents both looked confused. He excused himself, and went to wait for the helicopter to arrive, leaving Mary to explain the situation to the rest of his family.

Unfortunately, it was dark by the time he and his team arrived at Appledore. Mycroft knew that Magnussen would deny any involvement, and that he would no doubt demand they leave. But possession of the laptop at any rate was enough to warrant at least some search, and Mycroft knew he had the man there. Mycroft was excited that he'd finally be able to get rid of this blackmail master. He felt glad to be protecting his family from Magnussen, given what had happened to Sherlock because of his involvement; and so he could understand why Sherlock was going to such extremes to protect John and Mary. There was just a little part of him that was sad for his little brother, for electing to not actually talk with John about his feelings.

And then in a blink of an eye, as the shot was fired, everything changed. Mycroft's heart jumped to his throat and he had to strangle to shout out not to shoot. He…he couldn't believe it. What had his little brother done? _Why_? How could it all have gone to hell? Magnussen, killed in cold blood…by Sherlock. He … he was so sure that this was going to be a good day. He was utterly horrified and overwhelmed. What was he going to do now? He once again failed to protect his family. His baby brother.


	11. For Family

Mycroft was in a daze as Sherlock was arrested and incarcerated. John, having kept his distance, was ignored and allowed to return home to Mary. Mycroft only was in Sherlock's presence for a moment, and all he could ask was a bewildered and quiet 'why'. He didn't even really mean it as a question. Sherlock looked him firmly in the eye, deep sadness shadowing in his blue eyes, and responded to him: I kept my vow. Appledore is gone. Mycroft still had enough mental faculties to realise that Magnussen's Appledore Vaults were a mind palace, and Sherlock had just taken it out. But in the shock of it all, he couldn't care. He watched as his brother was taken away, his heart heavy. He pulled out his phone and called the one person whom had any chance in hell in making him feel better.

Greg was relaxing on the couch. His mother had cooked a large and delicious Christmas meal, and he'd indulged a little too much. At least he wasn't alone: everyone else, his mother included, was lazing about the place. Marge had been there, of course, as had Sophie and her family. His niece and nephew had loved the presents he and Mycroft had gotten them (although Mycroft really didn't have much to do with it), and there still remained shards of wrapping paper scattered about the lounge room. Under the tree was a single small solitary present: one for Mycroft from his mother. Greg smiled warmly looking at it. He'd pouted to know what it was, but his mother had snatched the gift back off him so Greg would stop shaking it to his ear.

Then Greg's phone rang. He'd half expected Mycroft to phone him during the day, but Mycroft had been good and done as Greg had asked. He'd requested that his husband try at least interact with his family while he was there, and not to just spend the whole time on the phone. He picked up his phone and smiled seeing that it was Mycroft.  
"Hey, love. Merry Christmas." Greg said.  
"Come home now." Mycroft stated, and Greg instantly sat upright at his tone.  
"Mycroft? What is it? What's wrong?"

There was silence, and Greg could hear Mycroft's ragged breathing.  
"Home. Now. Please." Mycroft strangled out, and then hung up.

Greg's heart was pounding so hard he could hear the blood rush through his ears.  
"Mum! I … I've got to go. Something's come up."  
"Oh, um, that's ok sweetie. Don't forget Mycroft's present." Betty said, confused but friendly. She stood up while Greg was struggling to get his coat on, and fetched the gift from under the tree. She handed it to him at the door. He took it and shoved it into his pocket, leaned in and briefly kissed her cheek, and then he was off.

Greg drove fast back to their home in London. He wasn't dangerous, but he wasn't exactly careful either. He was just glad that there was next to no traffic at that hour. He arrived back at the house within 45 minutes. Greg burst through the door and ran into the house. His adrenaline was thrumming through his veins and he couldn't stop panting.

"Mycroft! Myc! Where are you?" He shouted, running to the living room. He stopped dead when he saw his husband curled up in a tight ball on the couch near the fireplace. He looked pale, and like he was going to be sick. Greg rushed over to his side, but was careful about touching him.

"Mycroft… I'm here." Greg said slowly, and Mycroft's wet eyes drifted over to focus on his husband. He leaned forward into Gregory's chest, and Greg wrapped his arms around him tightly. He could feel Mycroft shaking.

"What happened, love?" Greg asked again, worried. Somehow in his gut, he knew it was Sherlock. Mycroft's brother was one of the few things that could make him get into this state.  
"Sherlock…" Mycroft began, confirming Greg's assumptions, "He… he shot Magnussen." Mycroft breathed. Greg's eyebrows flew up in shock.  
"He…what? He killed Magnussen? That guy you told me about?"  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"I… I don't know exactly. I only saw him briefly before…before they took him away. He said that Appledore was gone now, which I assume means that he did it to protect Mary and thus protect John."  
"Ok. He did it for family." Greg said, confused as to what 'Appledore' was, but decided it was a question for later. Right now, Mycroft needed support.

"Gregory… I don't think I can protect him on this one." Mycroft said, defeated, and his tone made Greg's heart plummet. Mycroft felt utterly broken, it was obvious. Greg stroked his back up and down softly.  
"What's going to happen to him now?" Greg asked cautiously. He felt the trembles rack Mycroft's body at the question.  
"Normally… he'd be sent to prison for premeditated murder. He's incarcerated in solitary confinement at the moment. But he'd not survive in that environment for long, and it would likely not contain him anyway with success for the staff. At least that's what I'm going to say to my people."

Greg thought about his response carefully before saying it. He didn't want to get Mycroft even more worked up.  
"Myc, I … I know you always want to be the protective big brother. But Sherlock understood what was going to happen after he did…what he did. He's an adult, and it's not your responsibility to fix the consequences for him."

Mycroft mumbled something Greg couldn't make out, and then began to properly cry. Greg hummed softly to him, continuing to stroke his back.  
"It'll be alright love, he's still alive. You can still see him. The worst hasn't happened."  
"I can't let him live that life, Gregory." Mycroft sniffled. Greg just nodded, his chin on Mycroft's head so he knew the man could tell his agreement. He didn't know what to say. There didn't seem to be any other options, however. Even if Sherlock killed this man that had done such awful things, that didn't exonerate his actions. He still committed murder.

They sat there on the couch for some time until Mycroft had calmed down. He was grateful that Gregory had remained and held him close. He'd even been able to smile when Gregory had reached into his pocket and given him the little gift that Betty had bought for him. It was a stone, a large pebble, that had the word 'family' engraved on the top, accompanied with a card with a small poem on it. It was a warm gesture.

"I can't abandon him, dear." Mycroft spoke.  
"I don't expect you to, Myc. He's family. We don't abandon family." Greg said, his voice hitching.  
"I can't let him to go prison."  
"But what would the alternative be, Myc?"  
"Before … this, my people were fairly adamant that Sherlock accept work for MI6 in Eastern Europe. I told him to decline, since I was unable to convince the others to retract their demands. I believe that accepting this work would be an acceptable alternative in their eyes."  
"But?" Greg asked, and Mycroft looked up at him.  
"What do you mean?" Mycroft enquired.  
"Well, there must be a reason why you wanted Sherlock to decline the job offer in the first place."  
"Yes." Mycroft state quietly, and Greg heard the hesitation in his voice. But he had to know.  
"Why?"  
"Because… I had predicted that the mission would prove fatal to him in six months."

Greg released Mycroft and looked at him incredulously.  
"WHAT?!" Greg shouted, loud enough to make Mycroft jump.  
"Gregory…"  
"No, I'm serious. What? You don't want your brother to go to prison for murder, so instead you want to send him on a suicide mission?! You want to ship him away so his last days are alone in a foreign country, instead of at least being able to see his family here, at home, from time to time? Are you insane?" Greg ranted, getting angrier at Mycroft that he strictly wanted to. Mycroft tore his gaze away from Gregory, and shamefully buried his face in his arms. Greg stood up and started pacing before him.

"Sherlock would break in prison. And I…I can't do that to another family member." Mycroft uttered, and then panicked when he realised what he'd just said.  
"What?"  
"Nothing."  
"No, seriously, Myc, tell me what you mean by that." Greg insisted. There was something Mycroft wasn't telling him, and in the heat of the moment, he didn't care if it was a state secret.  
"I can't talk about it more, Gregory. Please leave it alone. What I can say is this: Sherlock would soon become a shell of whom he is now. It is kinder to let him live his last days as the man he is, than to forcefully keep him alive as a broken shadow."  
"No, Mycroft. Firstly I disagree on principle, and secondly I don't think you should be the one to make that decision."  
"There's no one else!" Mycroft shouted back, and was met by shock. Mycroft was always so careful never to raise his voice at Gregory, or really anyone. Greg wasn't sure what to make of it. He saw the desperation in Mycroft's eyes, and the pain of burden. Greg realised that he was actually telling him the truth: that he was the one to make the decision over Sherlock's life, and having to chose between quality of life and length of life. Greg sighed, the anger abated, and sat back with Mycroft.

"Don't you think Sherlock would want a say in this?" Greg asked finally, his arms rested on his knees.  
"I… I can extend the options to him, but I believe he'd chose the MI6 path. He's always been a free spirit. Caging him just isn't right."  
"He'd probably think he'd be able to pull it off, despite your expectations."  
"Possibly. But I'm afraid that in this case, I doubt I am wrong." Mycroft said, sighing. He unfurled himself to rest in a similar position to his husband, and leant his head on Gregory's shoulder.  
"At least he got what he wanted. Protecting his family."  
"Yes. I'm sure he'd be happy to die for that. He was willing to die for his family before."

Greg turned to look at Mycroft, an eyebrow raised.  
"It wasn't fool-proof, you know. He still had to jump off that building, and there was always the chance that something was going to go wrong. We minimised the risk as much as possible, but one can never fully anticipate everything. Sherlock was truly prepared to die for you, John, and Mrs Hudson, if it came to it." Mycroft spoke softly.

Greg felt his muscles tense at the memory, and at the realisation that Mycroft was right. He wrapped his arm around his husband once more, and kissed his temple.  
"Terrible things keep happening to me, Gregory. I can't help but wonder if it was me that caused them to happen, or if I deserve it." Mycroft said, feeling lost.  
"Terrible things happen, love. You don't deserve it, I can tell you that now. And you always try to do the right thing. Don't beat yourself up because life has decided to give you the short end of the stick, and don't you dare think that it's the universe balancing out your being happy with me." Greg stated firmly, giving his husband a supportive shake. Mycroft nodded, having actually been thinking that. He was glad Gregory could read him so well sometimes.

"Gregory…I feel I don't deserve you. Here you are doing all you can to support me, and I am honestly being conflicted about whether I should choose you or Sherlock."  
"What… what are you talking about?"

"I was never going to let him die in Eastern Europe. I would feign indifference to my colleagues, I would give them the spiel of not caring and him deserving it… and no one would bring up what we are all thinking that it would indeed be a suicide mission. I would tell them that Sherlock was needed, and that they couldn't just imprison him anyway. And then I would get him out."  
"Like last time?"  
"No. Last time I had the support of the government to go undercover and extract him. I would be going alone."  
"Ah." Greg said, suddenly understanding what Mycroft meant by the choice between him and Sherlock. Greg couldn't deny the stab of pain in his chest at the thought.

"It would be dangerous, and I don't know if I could ever return to England with him. But I can't let him die. I would protect him, Gregory… but it… it would mean, that you and I …" Mycroft started, but began to break down into tears as he spoke and was unable to finish.  
"You wouldn't end things with me to go look for your brother, would you?" Greg asked uncertainly.  
"I…I couldn't ask you to stay here alone while I was selfish and risked my life. I couldn't ask you to join me. I don't know what to do." Mycroft wailed. Greg wanted to be angry at the words, but the sheer pain in Mycroft's voice, how lost he sounded, made him still feel bad for his husband.  
"I love you with all my heart, Gregory. Never doubt that. I would die for you easily. If I had to hurt you to save Sherlock, then… well… if we both died, it wouldn't matter. I'd have deserved as much."  
"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. Your life is valuable to me, and damn it Mycroft, use that big brain of yours to come up with a solution. You're panicking, you're stressed, you're downright broken and lost. Of course you can't think of an ingenious solution right now. But that doesn't mean you won't. You just need to calm down, give it some time, and then we'll work out what to do together." Greg said forcefully, a little bit concerned for Mycroft's suicidal comment.

Mycroft stilled and considered Gregory's words carefully. The realisation of how true it was hit him like a bus, and he was overwhelmed by guilt.  
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry Gregory…" Mycroft repeated, over and over, into Gregory's chest. Greg took a deep breath and held him close.  
"It's ok love." Greg cooed, but he remained worried. Keeping his family together was proving a lot more difficult than he'd ever anticipated.


	12. No One Else

Greg initially had said he'd wait at home for Mycroft, but found that his nerves were eating away at him and his emotions were quickly becoming unbearable. And so, he'd gone off to the pub for a pint. He'd asked for the day off, but he felt like it would be better if Mycroft had some time to himself with Sherlock. Greg had gone to see Sherlock the day before; since he was a DCI, he was allowed to visit the 'prisoner'. It had been emotional for him. He'd never thought he'd have to say goodbye to Sherlock, and found it exceedingly difficult to do so. Sherlock tried to put on a smile, to reassure Greg that it was ok.

Sherlock told him that John and Mary were ok now, and that it was as it was supposed to be. They couldn't talk deeply since they were still under surveillance. Greg tried to keep it together, but he knew Sherlock could tell — he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding his distress. Greg could also see the sadness in the detective's eyes. He knew that it was an actual goodbye. Sherlock knew it was going to be a suicide mission. And yet, he'd elected to do it anyway. Greg had said he didn't know what he was going to do with the tough cases anymore, and Sherlock had praised him; said that Greg didn't really need him anymore. And that made the dam keeping back Greg's tears break.

Greg had embraced Sherlock in a tight hug, sniffling. Sherlock had, while surprised at first, reciprocated the hug. Greg's heart lurched as he remembered his final words with Sherlock.  
 _"Goodbye… brother."_

Sherlock had been shaken by the comment, Greg could tell. It was in his voice when he'd responded.  
 _"Take care of Mycroft for me, Greg. He's going to need you. Goodbye."_

Greg cleared his throat and wiped his eyes as he sat with a beer on the table before him in the back corner of the pub. It was emotional, but at least it wasn't final. Greg hadn't said anything about Mycroft's plan. Well, plan to have a plan. His husband still hadn't thought of what to do to solve the problem, but had at least resolved to get Sherlock on the mission and then work out a way to exonerate him. Greg didn't push it, he didn't even ask… it was all still very stressful for Mycroft.

He looked at the clock. Sherlock was due to depart at any moment. Greg wondered how John was handling things. They'd not really spoken much since the incident; Greg had been preoccupied with consoling Mycroft. But the brief exchange they did have let Greg know that John and Mary were ok again, mostly thanks to Sherlock. It pained Greg that Sherlock never did as promised and talk to John, but it didn't matter now. Maybe it was even for the best, considering. At least John got to say a proper goodbye now, and maybe, just maybe, he'd take the opportunity to say those unspoken words between them. Greg doubted it though. Admitting to feelings during a goodbye would only leave them both hurting.

Greg sighed and figured he'd best be getting home. He didn't want his husband to arrive to an empty house. But, there was only a few minutes left of the match he'd been watching, and so decided he might as well stand at the bar (having just paid his tab) and see the end of the game. And that was when he saw Moriarty. His face fell. Of all days for this to happen… it had to be now. He promptly left the pub for home. Mycroft would undoubtedly be beside himself with this new development as well as the Sherlock stuff.

It had been some time since Greg had gotten home, and Greg had expected Mycroft home almost immediately after, or at least a phone call. He tried not to let the worry twist his insides, but he was failing the more time wore on. He told himself that Mycroft was just preoccupied with Moriarty, that nothing terrible had happened. He jumped when he heard the front door slam shut.

Mycroft appeared in the doorway, looking utterly run down, but a meek smile adorned his face. Greg stood up and walked over to him and embraced him in a firm hug. Mycroft accepted it gratefully, and held Gregory back.  
"I… I was worried when you didn't return or call."  
"Forgive me, Gregory. Things suddenly all changed."  
"Moriarty, I know."  
"Indeed. But Sherlock's back." Mycroft said, the cause of his smile revealed. It quickly faded, however.

They moved back over to the couch, Mycroft taking off his suit jacket and placing it over the armchair before sitting beside his husband.

"Sherlock has been requested back to address the Moriarty threat. It was excellent timing, actually. However, my brother has overdosed on a mixture of drugs. I was organising some care for him, as he refused to go to the hospital." Mycroft said stoically, in his usual detached manner in order to get the words out. Greg could see through it easily.  
"God, bad?"  
"Severe enough to be life threatening. When I realised I was just disappointed that he slipped back into it. He was high before he got on the plane. He made a list, at least. I … I don't believe it was as accidental as he claims." Mycroft said, his voice laced with worry. Greg reached out and held his arm firmly.  
"Why?"  
"Why what?"  
"I know that look, Myc. I can tell you have a reason why he did it and it hurts you."  
"It seems evident to me that Sherlock believed that he was to face death in six months of his departure, and seeing as that time away from John is said to be the most difficult of his life, he chose to end things before having to suffer through that again. He wanted John to be the last thing he saw."

Greg was motionless as Mycroft spoke. It was a sobering reality.  
"I should have told him. It's my fault he did this…" Mycroft spoke quietly.  
"Hey, no." Greg said forcefully, pulling Mycroft into his arms once again. He could feel the tremors rack Mycroft's thin frame. He then decided to have him lay along the length of the couch, his head in Greg's lap. It would be an awkward position normally, but under the circumstances, Greg felt it might help. Mycroft was surprisingly pliant to his actions, only reinforcing the need for them.

"Mycroft, you were prepared to do anything for your brother. Just as he did for me and John, wherein neither of us could know the truth. This is the same. He couldn't know. It is not your fault he tried to do this." Greg spoke sternly, but still reeling at the reality of it all.  
"I should have anticipated this, though. Of course John would be the last thing Sherlock would want to see, there has been no one else." Mycroft snarled at himself, looking away from Gregory's concerned face. Greg gently moved his chin back to look up at him.

"Mycroft… please don't blame yourself." Greg pleaded, unable to think of any more logical reasons to rebut Mycroft's self-depreciation. He ran his fingers gently through Mycroft's hair, knowing it soothed his husband at other times.

"I feel like I have almost lost him more than a normal big brother should." Mycroft stated, staring at the ceiling. Greg had to agree.  
"Well, neither of you are normal." Greg commented, and Mycroft smiled in response.

"So what happens now? You said the government wants him back on the case, so does that mean they're willing to give him a reduced sentence?" Greg asked, hoping to focus Mycroft's thoughts.  
"No. I believe that at this point, they will accept complete misconstruction of the truth to exonerate Sherlock of any consequences." Mycroft stated, looking up at Gregory's confused face. "That is to say, they will allow blame for the murder to be placed elsewhere. Sherlock will not be required to serve time for killing Magnussen, as officially… he will not have done so."  
"That's…" Greg started, unable to formulate words to reflect his complicated feelings.  
"Gregory dear, I know that as a policeman, you are against people not facing the consequences of their actions. However this is a different situation, and I know that for this to work out as required, Sherlock needs to not be pardoned for the action — he needs to have not have committed it at all."  
"But… if you can do that, like legitimately circumvent the law like that… why didn't you before?"

Mycroft frowned at Gregory, and sat up.  
"I would not do so merely because I care for Sherlock. There are laws in place for a reason, and my brother must adhere to them. I mean that in this instance, the country will likely be safer with Sherlock on the case… and that is a reason worth such extreme measures. Nothing less would give the council reason to approve such action."  
"I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean it like that…" Greg said in frustration. He sighed.

"Look, it's been a long day, for both of us, but mostly you. I think it's best to just leave it be for now. Just have some dinner, cuddle up to me, and have an early night. You can cry, you can scream, you can curl up in a ball all you want. But now's not the time to try work through it logically. Ok?" Greg offered with a concerned look.

Mycroft nodded, admiring the care and wisdom his husband displayed. He leant in and kissed him deeply. He felt comforted that even when everything in his life is thrown in the air and lands in a mess, Gregory will still be there for him.  
"Gregory…despite everything… I'm glad he's back."  
"Me too, love. Me too."


	13. Uncles

"You're still coming to the Christening, right?" John asked, putting some baby toys away.  
"Uh, yeah, I guess… if you want us to. But I don't understand why, I mean… I'm not a godparent, now, am I?" Greg responded, and John noticed the small tang of hurt in his voice.  
"Yeah, well, Sherlock's a godparent." John said with a smile, standing and looking directly at Greg. They were both standing in John's living room. Greg suddenly understood: Sherlock was a godparent, which made Greg and Mycroft Rosie's uncles. Greg couldn't be both a godparent and an uncle. He smiled and nodded, and John knew he'd finally understood.  
"Uncle Greg, eh?" John laughed.  
"Oi, don't laugh, I'm a brilliant uncle." Greg responded, feigning indignant.  
"I'm sure you are. Well, it's tomorrow, anyway. Don't be late."

Mycroft had been rather insistent that he didn't need to be present. He tried hard to get out of it, but Greg had demanded that as the child's uncle, he should be there. Mycroft had snapped about not being a real uncle until Sherlock marries John, but had quickly backed down at his husband's growl. Greg only reserved that for when he really wanted to get his way.

And so that found Mycroft hovering in the corner of the church, watching the proceedings from afar. Greg had complained, but Mycroft reminded him that he had only asked him to attend, not to be close. Greg sighed to himself, and tried to enjoy the moment. At least Mycroft _had_ come.

After John and Mary had walked Rosie out of the building, Mycroft returned to Greg's side. He scolded Sherlock for ignoring the Moriarty case, but Sherlock still insisted that he was waiting. That keeping busy with cases was his way of keeping an eye on 'the web'. Before Mycroft could protest, Sherlock had trotted out to catch up with John and Mary.

"So, was it as terrible as you feared?" Greg asked humorously as they strolled out of the church.  
"No, as I was not forced to be up close to it all. Thank you." Mycroft conceded.  
"I don't know why, she's adorable." Greg said, fondness radiating out of him. Mycroft noticed and raised his eyebrow.  
"You've already become quite attached to the infant, Gregory."  
"Baby, Myc. Not 'infant'. We can call her Rosie now. And yes, I have. How could anyone not?"  
"Quite easily I imagine…" Mycroft muttered.

They climbed into the car together. Greg could tell that Mycroft was not particularly fond of children, or babies at least. It made him wonder why, and wonder how the man could consider having a family with him if babies seemingly repulsed him.  
"Is it a gay thing?" Greg asked suddenly.  
"I…I beg your pardon?" Mycroft responded in shock.  
"Babies. Do you dislike them because they remind you of the … area … from which they came?" Greg asked, keeping his face dead-panned.  
"Where on Earth did you get that idea?" Mycroft spluttered, his face going red.  
"Ah so that is part of it."  
"I do not like to suddenly have that image thrust into my mind, Gregory!"  
"Relax, you're not the first gay guy I've met that had an issue with babies because it reminded them of vaginas." Greg said as casually as he could, but Mycroft's face was making it difficult not to laugh. "Usually the problem rights itself once the baby turns about six months old, so I doubt you'd have difficulty for long." Greg continued.  
"Gregory, I am not afraid of…"  
"Ha, you can't even say it. Though that could be the poshness of you. Look all I'm saying is that you can acclimatise yourself to babies, and they'll grow out of that appearance soon enough."  
"Why are you talking about this?" Mycroft asked through clenched teeth.  
"Just… thinking about your comment about having a family with me, and comparing it to your obvious dislike of babies."

Realisation dawned on Mycroft, and he nodded his head.  
"I'm sorry." Mycroft muttered.  
"Hey, relax, love. I wasn't being serious enough to get hurt by anything. I would have phrased it differently otherwise. If we were to talk seriously about having children, it would go a lot differently. I mean, I still have my inbuilt fear of becoming my father to them to address as well. I was just a bit curious as to why you didn't like them."  
"It… it mostly has to do with infants being so needy, dependant, and fragile. I don't understand humans innately like many people do; I have had to put a lot of effort into working them out, and babies have always been a part of the human condition that has eluded me. They unnerve me for those reasons." Mycroft spilled, his eyes darting across to his husband occasionally.

They rode in silence for a time longer, before Mycroft broke it whilst still staring out the window.  
"Rosamund does seem to make people happy."  
"Babies do that. Sure, being a parent is supposed to be hard, and tire the parents out to no end… but the love and happiness from that child makes it all worth it." Greg said warmly, reaching over to hold Mycroft's hand.  
"You make me happy." Mycroft said, turning to look Gregory in the eyes.  
"I hope you're not implying that I tire you out." Greg quipped.  
"You do sometimes. In fact, I expect you shall do so tonight." Mycroft responded slyly.

* * *

Mycroft had organised a dinner date for himself and Gregory. Since getting married, they'd not gone out on 'dates' as much as they used to, but Mycroft was finding he missed the activity. He waited at the foot of the stairs for Gregory to finish dressing. Mycroft had chosen an upper class place this time, and so Gregory would have to wear a suit. Mycroft admitted he may have selected the restaurant solely for the purpose of seeing his husband in the appropriate attire.

"Myc, you don't have to wait for me at the foot of the stairs like that. You make me feel like I'm a teenager going to a ball or dinner or something."  
"Well, we are going to dinner." Mycroft responded, not hiding his delight at seeing his husband in a lovely and tight blue suit. Greg had tried to reject Mycroft's offers of a tailored suit; but since the wedding, after having experienced the difference, he'd finally relented. Mycroft was thrilled with the result. He stuck his arm out for Gregory to take, and he did so with a roll of the eyes and a laugh.

They sat in the back of restaurant, allowing them to have more private conversations. Greg was grateful, as they'd not had a lot of time to just talk with each other the past couple of weeks. Work had kept them both fairly busy, and they were both just exhausted by the time either of them got home. Usually the routine was eat, clean, cuddle in bed, sleep. It was indeed nice to have a night out, even if work was still stressful.

"So, I ended up going to Sherlock about the Welsborough case." Greg said, sipping his red wine.  
"Oh? And how did he take it?"  
"He was rather excited. I'll admit, it had me stumped from the moment I got it."  
"Interesting, then." Mycroft said, but Greg knew him well enough to know that was his fake voice.  
"Love, you don't have to do that with me. Pretending to be interested. I know Sherlock and his cases have been a difficulty for you at work for a while now, and you're not wanting to hear more about it on our night off. I get it. You can just tell me, you know." Greg said seriously, but making sure he didn't sound offended.  
"I'm sorry. I do really want to be interested in your life, my darling, but you are correct. My brother has been proving a nightmare at work lately."  
"That's ok. Something a bit funnier then: Sherlock is still doing that distancing thing with me around John. It's getting worse now, he's even involving John in it, asked him for my name. Oh, and then John and I started joking about him being a baby and he didn't understand the implications." Greg said with a grin. Mycroft chuckled.  
"Yeah, that's him. But please, my dear, do tell me more about the case. I assure you, I am interested." Mycroft said, sipping his own glass of wine.

"Well, the case itself was fairly interesting: a boy found dead in his car parked out the front of his parents' house while he was supposed to be in Tibet, and forensics say he'd been dead there for a week. Turns out he'd disguised himself to look like the front seat and died in the costume so no one found him until the other car came and smashed into him… but anyway. Although, I will say… Sherlock was acting all weird about a smashed bust of Margret Thatcher."  
"Coincidentally, Sherlock came to me in my office just before asking about her. I agree that he was acting strangely. I worry about him remembering…"  
"Remembering?"  
"Yes, sorry… I shouldn't have said, I can't talk about it. But just that there's something he's forgotten that will cause problems should he remember. I worry that might be happening."  
"Oh… well… I'm sure it'll work out. Since I know already that you can't tell me any more about your job than you've already told me, how about we call this the end of chatting about our work lives?"  
"Sounds perfectly agreeable to me, my dear. What do you wish to discuss instead?"

Greg didn't answer straight away, as the waiter came and delivered their meals. Greg had a chicken kiev with vegetables, and Mycroft a salad. Greg bit his tongue at his husband's choice of meal, knowing that he tended to eat less while stressed. He didn't want to bring up issues about it while they were supposed to be having a good night out.  
"John and Mary seemed to be coping alright with parenthood." Greg said, cutting into his chicken.  
"I have seen. Sherlock showed me a photo of the baby while he was in my office. It seems you all are trying to get me more involved. Is it a coordinated effort?" Mycroft asked, amused, as he inspected his salad.  
"Oh no, you have caught me red handed." Greg joked, and Mycroft just shook his head with a smile.  
"I will interact with Rosamund at a time of my choosing, and not before… as her uncle, I believe I have that right." Mycroft said firmly.  
"Alright. Fair enough." Greg said, conceding purely because Mycroft agreed to being the girl's uncle, and ignoring the wincing noises Mycroft made from him talking with a mouthful of chicken.

"So, your birthday is coming up. Have any idea what you'd like to do for it?"  
"Curl up and sleep it off?" Mycroft mumbled to himself.  
"What? Why?"  
"I see no point in celebrating the fact that I have survived another complete year since my birth."  
"On the contrary, I see it as very important. Especially considering everything we've been through. Surviving through it is actually a very good reason to celebrate it. I know last year you had to be away for work… although in hindsight, I'm beginning to think that was arranged on purpose." Greg stated.  
"You may have a point, my dear, but that does not change the fact that I do not enjoy being reminded I am older."  
"Why? You look as hot as ever, so really… you've only just gained more knowledge, and I thought you liked that?" Greg said with a grin. He was thrilled to see Mycroft blush at his words.  
"Gregory." Mycroft said, not really sure what he meant by it.  
"Alright, alright… we'll just, I dunno, watch a movie or something." Greg grumbled, but was already formulating a plan to force Mycroft to do something special. He'd need Anthea's help for it. He didn't mention it again for the remainder of the evening, but still had a mischievous gleam in his eye.


	14. Secret Lunch Meeting

Greg had managed to organise a meeting with Anthea without Mycroft's knowledge. It was a lunch meeting, so that both of them could pretend to have been seeing someone else should they be questioned. Greg wasn't really sure why he had to spill formaldehyde over his shirt sleeve, but Anthea had dropped by before heading in to work and instructed him to do so before their meeting. She'd told him that his excuse was to be meeting with a forensics officer regarding a case over lunch, and she had written in her calendar that she was on a date. Greg was secretly glad at her attention to detail… it was evident that she was very good at her job, even if Greg wasn't sure exactly what that job was. It seemed to be anything Mycroft requested, including 'run the country while I'm out'.

Another bust of Margret Thatcher had been found broken, and Greg knew that he should bring it before Sherlock. He was surprised that it actually had been a thing, and not just Sherlock being weird. He took the evidence bag with him as he left the Yard, deciding to drop by to see his brother-in-law before meeting with Anthea.

Greg found it awkward to make conversation with Stella. He wondered if that was how Mycroft felt so often. Sherlock snapped at them for talking, but Greg found that just standing there in silence waiting was even more awkward. Thankfully, Sherlock didn't take too long. Stella was dismissed fairly quickly, and then Greg presented the evidence bag to Sherlock with his outstretched arm. He was a little unsettled by Sherlock's reaction, but dismissed it as Sherlock just focusing. Whatever Mycroft had been talking about Sherlock remembering didn't seem to be happening regarding the busts.

John talked a little about parenting, and offered for him and Mycroft to come around some time. Sherlock smirked as he seated himself at the table before the microscope.  
"What?" John asked, as if Sherlock had offended his child.  
"Nothing. Just … Mycroft, and babies."  
Greg rolled his eyes and nodded, but John just looked confused.  
"They scare him." Sherlock stated happily, pulling out a piece of the bust from the evidence bag.  
"Yeah, let's maybe not talk about this, Sherlock." Greg said with a hint of warning in his voice.  
"Fine." Sherlock grumbled, and busied himself looking at the shard.  
"We'll come 'round at some point, John, but it's going to take Mycroft a bit to get used to the idea." Greg said quietly. John just nodded, willing to give up the conversation.

Sherlock talked a bit about the case more, and Greg hoped that he wouldn't take too long. He checked his watch… he was already going to possibly be late to meet Anthea. Greg had assumed he could just drop the bust off and leave. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Sherlock said Greg had a lunch date. With a brunette forensics officer.  
 _Well, at least Anthea can fool Sherlock._

"Who told you?" Greg asked, not wanting to give away his secret plans. Sherlock quickly prattled off his deductions, all of which Anthea had placed seemingly for him to find (minus the glances he'd done to his watch, and that was just because he was legitimately pressed for time).  
"Have a good time." Sherlock stated, not really interested.  
"I will." Greg said, not sure if he should be unsettled that Sherlock thinks it perfectly fine for him to have a lunch date with a woman while married to his brother… or if Sherlock knew it was all a ruse.  
"Trust me, though, she's not right for you." Sherlock muttered. Greg stopped in the doorway and smiled. Yep, Sherlock knew it was faked.  
 _Damn. At least he's not going to tell anyone._  
"What?" He asked, just like he had all those years ago.  
"She's not the one." Sherlock said louder. Greg knew John probably had no idea what they were talking about… they were referencing something that happened years before he came along.  
"Well, thank you, Mystic Meg." Greg responded, trying not to giggle at the name. Last time Sherlock had shouted at him for calling him 'Meg', and so Greg decided to flee quickly.

Sherlock flashed a smile Greg's way, before continuing to focus on his phone.  
"How'd you work all that out?" John asked him, and Sherlock realised that John must think that Greg was cheating on Mycroft.  
 _Probably best to explain, then. Or, make it ridiculous._

"She's got three children in Rio that he doesn't know about." Sherlock stated.  
"Are you just making this up?" John asked, getting the hint.  
"Possibly." Sherlock said with a grin.  
"Who's Toby?" John asked as they left the flat.  
"You… you aren't going to ask me about Greg's date?" Sherlock asked with a flick of his eyebrow.  
"No, because you just told me you were making it all up. I know he wouldn't cheat on Mycroft."  
"Indeed. He does have a lunch date planned, but it's with Anthea - despite his attempts to hide it. No doubt trying to organise something for my dear brother's birthday."  
"So why bother telling him 'she's not the one?'"  
"A reference to something that happened in the past."  
"So it's just some game you two are playing again." John grumbled exasperatedly as Sherlock hailed a taxi.

"Oh, do relax John, we're not purposefully excluding you. It was a few years ago, on a case. I'd already told him about his wife cheating on him, but he wouldn't get a divorce from her for some reason. He told me that no one else would want him, and I'd said that I knew of at least one person who did."  
"Mycroft?" John asked.  
"Exactly. But I didn't tell him that at the time. He seemed to think I was lying, and then next thing we know, one of the new recruits starts hitting on him. He turned to me and said that I shouldn't set him up like that because he was still married. I denied it, saying she wasn't whom I meant, but I could see him thinking. I told him, 'trust me, she's not right for you.' He was confused, and I just said that she wasn't the one I meant. And that neither was his wife. He got a bit annoyed, and shouted 'well thank you, Mystic Meg' at me… and I may have, er, shouted back."  
"In other words, you insulted him."  
"Possibly. But I was right, his wife was everything I said she was. And that he's happier without her."

John groaned.  
"Oh Sherlock. The Queen of Tact, you are. At least you kept Mycroft's feelings secret long enough for them to be happy finding each other."

* * *

"Hey, Anthea… sorry I'm late, I was dropping some stuff off with Sherlock."

"I knew you would be. Did he assume you were having a lunch meeting with a forensics officer?"  
"Um, date, actually. But I think he knew it was faked. He wouldn't be that ok with me dating someone on the side. Besides, he smiled when I called him Mystic Meg…"  
"Right… ok. Point is, he's not going to tell Mycroft you're meeting me. Now, what were you wanting to do for his birthday?" Anthea interrupted, brushing over what Greg had been talking about like it was irrelevant.

"I know he hates gatherings of people in any form, so having a secret surprise party is out of the question. I was thinking of maybe him having the day off, so I could take him to dinner."  
"He doesn't need a whole day off just to have dinner with you." Anthea said, raising her eyebrow.  
"Well, I was going to make a day of it. Like, breakfast in bed…"  
"Other things in bed…" Anthea mumbled, and Greg's eyes blew wide in surprise. He had not expected Anthea to be less than professional.  
"Um…yeah. But that's kinda between me and Mycroft." Greg said uncomfortably.  
"Relax, Detective. I was just having a bit of fun. I'm glad Mycroft finally has someone, he's been sad and lonely for so long."

Greg didn't say anything in response. They sat in silence for a while, looking at their menus. After ordering, Anthea started talking again.  
"I believe I could get him the day off, however it would be difficult to do so and have it remain a surprise."  
"Can't you just fill his schedule with fake meetings?"  
"You… you have met your husband, right?" Anthea joked, and Greg understood. It would indeed be difficult to keep it secret.  
"I have confidence in you. I mean, the thing with the formaldehyde today… I'm sure you can manage it."

Anthea gave him a wry smile.  
"I agree," She spoke, "But I'll have to fill his time up progressively. I won't be able to confirm that he has the whole time off until a few days beforehand. Will that be enough notice for you?"  
"Mhm, yep." Greg agreed as their food was delivered.  
"So, what else do you have planned?"  
"Well," Greg said, taking a bite, "I would like to make a little treasure hunt for him. But, as you know, making clues hard enough for him not to work it all out in an instant would be challenging, and beyond me."  
"Perhaps it's worth including Sherlock?" Anthea suggested.  
"Wouldn't he ruin it?"  
"You know him better than I." Anthea shrugged.

Greg nodded. They ate in relative silence after that. Anthea decided that the majority of her involvement would be to get Mycroft secretly free of work for his birthday, and that Greg could do as he pleased with the rest.  
"Oh, wait… I have a brilliant idea." Greg suddenly said as the waiter cleared their table.  
"Hm?"  
"The fake appointments… we could make them _real_ fake appointments."  
"I…I'm not following." Anthea said, confused.  
"Have people pretend to be meeting him for one reason or another, but they give him clues instead to work out the puzzle."  
"I think you're getting too excited to fool your husband, Greg. I can't get the people that Mycroft would be seeing to agree to that."  
"No, make up fake people."  
"Again… have you met Mycroft? He'll know, and likely not assume it's for a birthday surprise." Anthea reminded him, but Greg was already planning what he could do.  
"Have him go to empty rooms then, where he'll find a card that is meaningless without the other pieces of the puzzle. I'll get Sherlock to help, since I'd never be able to do it on my own. And then he can work out where to find me."  
"So you want you to be his prize?" Anthea asked suggestively. Greg blushed slightly.  
"Yeah."  
"Going to jump out of a cake as well?" Anthea teased. It could have been interpreted as mean, but Greg was too focused on what Mycroft's reaction might be to the combination of himself covered in (nothing but) cake.


End file.
